Rising Shadows: The 57th Hunger Games SYOT
by Jalenexa
Summary: This year's tributes will need to keep an eye on the competition of course, but with the other, I hope their looking in the shadows, our arena sure has a lot of them. The 57th Hunger Games. Rated T for death and maiming (it IS the hunger games). SYOT *closed*
1. Introduction

**So I have decided to do a SYOT, which is good cause I have A LOT of extra time on my hands right now. The tribute form and list is on my profile as well as the SYOT rules. I've redone the introduction in an effort to improve it, hopefully its better. So this is the new version.  
**

"_Last year were interesting games, but this year is going to be one to remember."_

"Mommy! Mommy!" The little girl in the yellow dress bounced up and down on the green satin cushions of the sofa. "It's starting!"

"What?" A woman in silver dress stood in the doorway, her long hair the color of the sky on a cloudless day.

"The Games, _duh._"

"I didn't know they were starting early." she teased.

"No." The child rolled her eyes exaggeratedly at her mother's foolishness, "They're just talking about them."

She checked her golden watch, "Its way past you bed time. Why don't you watch this in the morning?"

"No mommy! The reapings start in the morning!" She gave her mother a pleading look.

The woman frowned at the watch for a second more then sighed, "Alright, but after this straight to bed. No if and's or's or but's."

She sat beside her daughter and the little girl threw her arms around her, before clambering into her lap.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

On the screen the interview was already well underway.

"_I assume then that you've already picked out a theme then?"_ The announcer was saying.

_"Oh yes," _The camera panned to a man with unnatural golden hair, _"we've gotten all the details in order." _

_ "Do you think you could give us a hint as to this year's flavor? Or would that spoil the surprise?" _

_ "What do you think? Does everyone want a hint?" _The crowd roared in approval. The man with golden hair shushed the crowd with a finger. _"This year's tributes are going to have their work cut out for them. They'll need to keep an eye on the competition of course, but with the other, I sure hope their looking in the shadows, our arena sure has a lot of them." _The crowd was completely silent, _"You never know when you might get swept away."_

"What are the shadows mommy?"

But the woman hushed her daughter with one heavily manicured finger. All her attention was directed at the screen.

_"Now what are we supposed to make of that?"_

_ "It would be cheating if I told you." _The audience laughed and the two men stood and shook hands.

_"I'm afraid our time is at an end, I wish you the best of luck Decimus."_

_ "Thank you. I wish you all happy Hunger Games!"_

_ "May the odds be ever in your favor!" _

The woman frowned, petting her daughters white blond hair, "Aelia are you sure you want to watch them this year. Last year's gave you nightmares for a month." It was true, Aelia had woken screaming each night tormented by images of the victor, a big brutish boy from district two. He had won by bashing his final opponent's brains out with rock.

But Aelia didn't seem fazed. "That was a_ whole year_ ago, I can handle it now. Plus all my friends get to watch, why can't I?" She pouted giving her mother that big doe eyes look that usually got her whatever she wanted.

"I'm still not sure if it's a good idea to let be exposed to all that violence."

"_Please_ mom."

"Hmmm. I'll have to talk to your father about it when he gets home."

Aelia smiled, the battle was won. Her father loved the games and wouldn't think twice about letting her watch.

"Now," Aelia was scooped up in her mother's arms, though admittedly a bit too big for being carried, "I do believe it is someone's bed time."


	2. tribute list

**Now complete. **

Tribute List:

District 1:

M: Paris Calebs (18)

F: Satin Arret(17)

District 2:

M: Jason Ashlar (18)

F: Melody Sanders (17)

District 3:

M:Helix Boltt (18)

F: Pixel Blixen (14)

District 4:

M:Jericho Harman (14)

F: Marla Illene (16)

District 5:

M: Liam Marcellino (18)

F: Rosie Marcellino (12)

District 6:

M: Drana Rebel (16)

F:Domino Young (17)

District 7:

M: Ashen Moltres (18)

F: Fern Vipointe (16)

District 8:

M:Maximo Juilliard (15)

F: Amity Greaves (16)

District 9:

M: Drew Pierce (15)

F:Teff Galloway (12)

District 10:

M:Livven Baxwell (16)

F:Buela Orford (15)

District 11:

M: Jeckehr Vernon (17)

F: Violet Crystaline (17)

District 12:

M: Toran Mendas (18)

F: Briar Thellin (17)


	3. District 1 Reaping

**Hello everyone, here is the district 1 reaping. I hope that I represented these tributes well, I tried very hard to stay true to the information that was given to me in their submission forms. As of right now only a few tribute spots are left (please see chapter two it has been updated) and I am still waiting on a few reservations. If you have reserved a tribute please try to get them in soon so that the reapings can continue. District 2 will go up once I receive the female tribute that is currently reserved.**

**On that happy note I present the District 1 tributes!**

District 1: Reaping Day

**Paris Calebs (18)**

I wake to the blaring scream of the training center alarms. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the shrill blast ring in my ears. 5:50 am, I know this because it's the time they sound every morning, to let us know we have exactly ten minutes to get down to the dining hall before the doors are shut and breakfast is served.

I don't waste time, rolling out of bed and stripping out of my ratty T-shirt and sweatpants. There's no time for a shower—besides water is cold except for between 7 and 8pm—so I just splash some from the basin over my face. I guess I'll have to go dirty to the reaping. It's freezing and suddenly I'm gasping, but at least I'm awake. Then digging through my trunk I pull from the bottom a pair of clean khakis. Usually I would wear them with a tank top, but today is a special day so I opt for a brown button down shirt. The buttons are a gold glaze and looking in the small mirror tacked to the wall I realize it must be to match my eyes. _Too bad you don't give a rats ass what you look like_, I think, _leave that to the stupid halfie girls._

To which the other darker part of me thinks, _the same halfie girls that get to go home to a real family every day. _

I do my best to brush the thought away. It doesn't matter if I don't get to go home at the end of each training session, the academy _is_ my home. This is where I belong and the people here are better than any family. I would know that for a fact.

My standard issued combat boots sit by the door and I tug at the laces hurriedly before practically flying out the door.

The dining hall is five floors down, no elevators, but thanks to my training the exertion hardly phases me.

Price, one of the assistant trainers stands by the open door. He's dressed the same as me, only his shirt is blue.

"Cutting it close Calebs?"

"Yes sir." If it was one of the other trainers I might have pulled a joke but I know better than to try it with Price. He'd accuse me of talking back and then I'd not get breakfast for sure. Instead I keep my head down and duck inside.

There are only about half a dozen kids in the low ceilinged room. Not many of us live here, just the ones that are completely devoted to training, or have nowhere else to go, or whose parents don't want them. In a rich district like 1 it's a small number. Most are here to train for the games, something I really don't care much about. I'm more focused on what comes after training. As soon as we turn 19 and can't participate anymore they ship those of us with nothing else to do off to district 2. That's my plan; I hear they train you to be peacekeepers.

From one end of the room Pallad waves, and I make my way around the sparse tables to join him at the wooden trestle table. The surface is marred with countless grooves, names and images carved into the dark wood.

"Ready for the reaping Paris?" He claps me heartily on the back as a woman in a crisp white apron deposits a bowl of something I guess must be oatmeal in front of me.

"Oh don't remind him of that!" The girl sitting next to him protests. Her dirty blond hair is tied up in a big knot on top of her head, but unlike the other kids in the room she wears a pressed blue dress.

"Don't remind him? Don't you care about me Topaz? You know my name's in there too!"

Topaz raises an eyebrow, "And I bet you'd just love to be reaped wouldn't you Pallad?"

"I would not!" Pallad says a tad overdramatically, "If you get reaped someone's sure to volunteer and then you've got no chance of going in."

"Well you've still got a whole year to prepare for that, I was asking Paris because it's his last reaping."

I feel her eyes on me, all soft and kind, it makes me uncomfortable. I shrug noncommittally, "I'm fine."

She leans back, apparently relived.

Pallad whistles, "Well I'll tell you who's not fine: Bastion St. James. Apparently the trainers have pulled him as a potential volunteer."

Topaz glances at me, "I know. That was some hit to the head, I ended up having to stay the whole night. I had my mom come by and drop off clothes and everything." Topaz isn't like Pallad and I. She's a halfie, comes in after school and gets to go home after the sessions over. Not that she's still not training, but it's not the same as those of us that live here. Nevertheless anyone who's ever seen Topaz train knows her hearts not in it. She's here to become a medic, fixing us all up when we beat each other bloody.

"What even happened? I heard there was an accident but they wouldn't tell me anything else." Pallad asks. I try to avoid Topaz's eyes.

She frowns down at her bowl, "Him and some friends stayed late last night, got some vodka off one of the street urchins. The lot of them got pretty drunk and Bastion slipped on one of the front steps. He's down in the infirmary now with a concussion and twenty seven stitches in his head. If I had to guess I'd say his chances of volunteering are at about zero." She glances up and I know that she's covering for me.

Bastion never fell down those stairs. I threw him. It was an accident really, I didn't mean to do it. He had been insulting me, and then a sort of red haze descended on the world, like it always does when the monster comes out to play. Next thing I knew I was standing at the top of the stair, and he was at the bottom. After that I carried him down to Topaz. She fixed him up best she could and gave me an injection of morphine like she always does when I lose control. Judging by her face now I know she's not going to rat me out.

"The trainers are sure gonna have a heck of a time picking the replacement." Pallad muses.

"So do you know who they're sending in?"

Pallad sends me a sideways grin, "Don't worry, kids are crawling over each other to get in the games. Someone will volunteer, they always do."

**Satin Arret (17) **

I look at the black dress spread out on the silky sheets of my bed. Beautiful. I'm sure to make an impression today. Which is good because I'll need to. Most tributes don't start looking for sponsors until they get to the capitol, but I know the power of appearance and in these games there will be no room for error.

I slip into it, then crossing to the vanity let my hair out of its pony tail. Normally I would prefer it tied back and safely out of the way but today I let the white blonde locks frame my face. Rummaging through the drawers I dig out a little stub of lipstick and paint my lips in a deep scarlet. It's an unnecessary luxury, I know, but today is a special day and it's not as though my family can't afford it. Just one glance around my room is evidence of that. The cream walls, silk sheets, and framed paintings, all the results of my father's successful jewelry business.

"Satin! Breakfast!" My mother's voice floats up the stairs.

"One second!"

I turn taking everything in. This is the last time I'll ever stand here. By the time I get back my parents will have packed all this up and moved it to our new house in the victor's village. I suppose I'll miss this house. I'm just turning to leave when my gaze alights on my crossbow, leaned up again the wall in the far corner. It's old and worn, and looks rather out of place. But it's not exactly easy to buy weapons, even in district 1, and my dad got this one off an old man down in the bad part of town. They only had one in the training academy, and when it became clear that I planned to make the crossbow my specialty it was evident I would need my own.

I run a finger down the scuffed wooden body. It's just a tool but I've had it a long time and this feels an awful lot like saying goodbye.

Then I'm gone, pounding down the stairs and into the kitchen.

My mom has made waffles and the whole family is waiting expectantly for me to join them.

When I arrive my mom frowns, "I really do wish you wouldn't wear makeup dear, it makes it look like you want attention."

"I _do_ want attention, sponsors attention." I say state, piling waffles onto my plate.

"Well I think you look lovely." My father interjects, "A true Victor."

"Thank you father! Jet, can you please pass the strawberries?"

But my mother is clearly not finished, "Now Jasper I don't think—"

"Lace, its Satin's last day she can do as she pleases."

I smirk into my food, the argument is clearly over and the matter finished. She never argues with my father.

"I can't wait to see you take out the other districts!" Ten year old Jet grins, strawberries flecking his teeth, "It's gonna be awesome!"

When the meal is over I stand abruptly.

My mother looks confused, "Aren't you doing to help with the dishes?"

I shake my head, "It's a half an hour till the reaping and I promised Ruby I'd get there early."

She looks like she's about to object but my father cuts her off, "Have fun Satin, we'll see you at the reaping. Your mother and I are very proud."

"See ya." I'm gone before either one of them can start giving me tips or strategy talks. Ever since I decided I would be volunteering this year I've been getting an awful lot of those. My mom, my dad, the trainers, no one will leave me alone.

Outside is bright and sunny, a perfect day. I make my way alone down the main street of town. Plenty of people are out and about, mostly kids and their families on their way to the town square.

I meet Ruby on a green strip of grass a few houses down from mine.

"Satin!" she throws her arms around me, "Aren't you just so excited? I couldn't sleep at all last night!"

I'm not really in the mood for hysterics, but it's what's expected, so I gush back, "I know! Me either! I just can't believe it!"

She barely listens to my response instead links her arm with mine and starts dragging me off towards the town square, "Did you hear?! Bastion St. James got a concussion! It's really too bad because he wasn't a bad fighter and he was totally handsome. But that's at least good for you, you won't have to fight him now!"

I smile and nod, but inside I'm mulling it over. So…Bastion is out and who knows who will be replacing him. Despite what Ruby thinks this is _not_ good news. I knew Bastion, had trained with him, and knew his both his physical and mental weaknesses. He would not have been a threat to me, but some newcomer though...That could cause problems. But Ruby doesn't want to hear these thoughts. As a rule people tend to prefer happy smiling girls over the ones who scheme and play with knives. Even my parents would agree with that. Not to say that don't still entertain my plans but when I do, it's in the confines of my own head where no one else can hear them. So I giggle and smile and assure Ruby the Bastion St. James is indeed just positively dreamy.

When we reach the town square it's already mostly full. We sign in, pricking our finders and stamping our names for the white armored peacekeepers, then are let into the roped off area with everyone else.

"Satin! Ruby!" Velvet and Midas wander over, trailing Velvet's rather disgruntled looking brother, Clos. We chat about nothing in particular for a few minutes, until a group of kids passes and we fall silent.

"Here comes the losers." Midas whispers, flipping his golden hair out of his eyes. There are about six of them, grim looking kids, all dressed identically in button down shirts, khakis, and combat boots. The full time trainers, kids no one wants, so they live at the academy. The tallest is a boy with buzz cut copper hair in a dark brown shirt.

I nudge Velvet, "Hey Vel, it's your boyfriend."

She wrinkles her nose, "Ewwww! He's a freak! Didn't you see what he did to Radiance last week 'by accident'? I couldn't believe—"

But whatever she can't believe I don't find out, because at that moment a blue tattooed woman with cotton candy hair mounts the stage at the front of the justice building.

"Welcome boys and girls!" She trills, "As you know this year is the 57th Hunger Games, and I am honored to select this year's district 1 tributes." She wastes about five minutes on pleasantries, but no one pays much attention. The crowd wants to know who will be this year's tributes, not about how the games came about for the millionth time.

"Now, I do believe it is time to choose one lucky young man and woman for the honor of representing district 1. As is tradition, the ladies will go first." She dips her hand into one of the large crystal bowls, filled with our names on little paper strips, "Jasmine Gleam."

"I volunteer!" The camera which had begun to pan to Jasmine, a little fourteen year old, now spins back to find me. "I volunteer as tribute." I repeat enjoying the words on my lips.

"Yes! Yes!" The capitol woman, Lilith I believe, beams, "Why don't you come up here darling and tell us your name."

The crowd seems to part before me and soon I am standing above them all, wind whipping at my hair, "My name is Satin, Satin Arret."

**Paris Calebs (18)**

"Satin, Satin Arret!" I recognize the girl from training, another of the halfies. She's one of the girls that spend most of their time giggling with their stupid friends while the instructors talk. If I had to guess she'll be dead by day three. Her type always is.

There is a big hand of applause for Satin. Despite her small chances she's the type of tribute people like to see, young and beautiful. Then Lilith prances over to the other glass bowl, "Now time for the boy." She digs around for a moment before coming up with a strip. I lead forward eager to hear the name, and more eager to see who volunteers.

"Paris Calebs."

Silence. Somewhere I hear Topaz gasp, but that's it. I look around, everyone is staring and suddenly I know what's expected. They want me to walk up on the stage, to go compete against 24 other kids until only one of us is left.

The walk to seams to take an eternity. But one foot in front of the other I get there. Lilith beams at me, then asks the crowd for volunteers.

Pallad's words from this morning come floating back._ "Someone will volunteer, they always do." _Except no one is, instead they just stare at me. This must be the first time in years that no one has volunteered. Why? Normally kids are climbing over each other for this. I think about what Satin friend is said earlier _"He's a freak! Didn't you see what he did to Radiance last week?" _I'm sure she didn't mean for me to hear it, but it's true. I_ am_ a freak. A giant, ugly, freak that somehow always manages to hurt people without meaning to. Who better to send into the arena? I'm sure no one will miss me.

"Well then," The escort smooth's the front of her purple dress uneasily, "Tributes shake hands and then we'll have a big round of applause."

We turn to face each other and clasp hands. Satin smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes which are icy blue. I try to smile back but I don't think the muscles in my face are working correctly.

The crowd claps politely, nothing like the applause Satin got when she volunteered.

She seems to notice this and shakes her mane of white blonde hair laughing softly, "Don't look so down Paris, together you and I are going to have so much fun."


	4. District 2 reaping

**Hello! As promised here is the district 2 reapings, as I said last chapter I really hope I represented everyone's tributes well. Thank you all for your lovely reviews, it was very interesting to see which tribute was everyone's favorite. I won't be able to write at all this weekend as I have to drive down to a family reunion in Lima, however, I hope to have the next chapter up sometime early next week (I've already started it so that should speed the process). Well in any case enjoy the chapter!**

District 2: Reaping day

**Melody Sanders 17**

"You _will_ win. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"There is no middle ground here, no 'I tried'."

"I know." I stare down at my hands trying to quell my rising nausea.

"And this isn't just about you. It's about your district, your district's pride. Yes?"

"Yes."

"Are you ready to be a victor?" A victor. I know that's what he wants. Another victor in the family. We'll have two grand houses in the victor's village one courtesy of me, the other—the one we live in now—my brother's. All I have to do is be a win. All I have to do is kill 23 other children like I've been trained to do.

"Yes." I look up into my father's icy eyes and fight to make my face and voice impassive, "I just don't understand why it has to be this year, I still have one more left."

He sighs, the look on his face clearly exasperated that I would ask this stupid question again. "Because you're the best this year. Next year no doubt there will be some new trainee at the academy who will volunteer and you will have missed your chance."

"What about the volunteer this year?"

"Bah, the Blite girl wouldn't last a minute in the arena. She might be pretty but looks aren't important, you need to be strong." I don't know Aurora Blight all that well, just from school, but for some reason this description doesn't really strike me as accurate. It's true she's as pretty as anything that ever came out of district 1 but I've seen her throw a kid twice her size across the school yard when she had a mind. She's one of the kids that trains full time in the academy. In my mind a victory from her is far more likely than one from me.

"And I'm strong?" It's not an adjective I hear often. My brother is the strong one not me.

"You'd better be, otherwise the capitol will be sending me back a box instead of my daughter."

_You'd appreciate the box more_. I want to say but I don't. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and know that if he's been drinking this early in the morning talking back isn't a good plan.

Thankfully I'm saved from responding because at that moment my brother come loping into the room. Over six feet tall with a hulking build Marcus' presence is enough to silence even my father.

"Giving Melody a last minute pep talk?" He grins. The jagged scar across his face just adds to his air of formidability.

"She needs to be prepared."

"Well do you mind if I borrow her for a sec? Wanna have a little chat, you know, mentor to tribute." Our dad nods his head briskly and I follow Marcus from the living room into the kitchen. Inside a cake is sitting on the counter, fluffy pink frosting decorated in roses. Normally dad doesn't believe in luxuries like this, but no doubt it's to celebrate my volunteering. Strawberry is my little sister Marcia's favorite flavor after all. It's really I shame I won't get to taste it.

Marcus seems to be contemplating similar thoughts, staring moodily at the cake.

When he finally speaks his voice is low, "I'm sorry he gets like that Melody, you know he's only trying to look out for you."

"I know," I brush a strand of brown hair back from my face, "I just wish he wouldn't drink so much."

"So do I but it helps him cope, what with mom being gone and all." Our mother died when I was five from complications with Marcia's birth. Since then dad's been very friendly with the liquor.

"I just want to be a normal family."

"I know," He frowns. "Though I've always though being normal was over rated.

I smile. My brother's changed a lot in the last two years but occasionally he still says something that reminds me of the boy I used to build forts with in the backyard of our old house. I lean back against the polished granite counter. "I suppose you didn't bring me in here to talk about dad."

"No, I wanted to give you some advice…real advice. Dad means well but he doesn't know what it's really like in there."

"Okay," I say slowly, "Why now? I thought you were coming with me to the capitol."

"I am, but these are things you need to know from day one, I sure wish I had." A shadow seems to pass over his face, like it always does when he thinks about his games. It makes him seem less like my older brother and more like the boy that gouged out another kids eyes with blunt knife. "In the capitol and afterwards in the games there are only two rules you need to remember. First, sponsors are everything. If you don't get rich patrons to back you, you might as well die in the blood bath because your chances become so slim. You have to make them adore you." That's easy for him to say, I think. With his blue eyes and muscular build he's had no problem getting the capitol women lining up around the block to donate to his cause. I don't see anyone doing the same for me. "Second and most important, don't ever even for a moment trust your allies, not even your district partner." There's pain in Marcus' eyes and I know that it's because he learned that lesson the hard way. He might have won his games, but not before one of his allies from district 4 managed to carve and ugly strip across his face. Even the plastic surgeons in the capitol hadn't been able to fix it.

"Don't worry, I'll keep my eyes on them."

He nods, "I haven't heard who the choice boy volunteer is, but whoever they pick, I know you can take him. I've watched you train, even coached you a bit. You're strong Melody."

You're strong. Why does everyone keep telling me that? I don't feel strong. Even my name sounds weak when Marcus says it. Melody, why couldn't I have been Invidia or Vesta? Those are victor's names. But that's not what anyone wants to hear from the sister of a victor, name or no.

"Now," He claps me on the back, "we should get going. I'm supposed to get there early to be introduced."

"Its fine, I need to meet up with Sabina and Natasha anyways." Yesterday at school Sabina hinted that she had some big secret, this might be my last opportunity to find out what it is.

Out in the living room Marcia has come down from her room and is watching birds through the thick glass panes of the window. This year is her first reaping and she's dressed for the part in a flowing pink dress hemmed in white lace. We match I realize, only I'm in green not pink. Her hair has been done up with a white ribbon.

She sees us reflected in the glass and leaps up.

"Is it time to go yet? I don't wanna be late."

"I'll be fine Marcia. We're going now. Dad," Marcus turns to our father, "do you want us to wait for you?"

He stretches and gets up from his chair, "No, you go on to the reaping. I'll be along in a few minutes, just have to put on a nice shirt. Marcus make sure your sister doesn't get lost." He's talking about Marcia.

"Don't worry," I interject, "I'll keep an eye on her."

He nods briskly.

The three of us head out the door into the not so sunny front yard, with its bright roses and happy daisies. We're just starting down the path when my dad's voice calls me back.

"Melody," He's standing on the front porch arms crossed, "I know you'll make me proud in the arena. However, if you decide to die it won't be as my daughter."

**Jason Ashlar 18**

The gravel of the narrow street crunches under the worn soles of my slightly too small shoes. Today the sun is masked behind a thick bank of fog and in my thin dress shirt I'm chilled.

"Are you nervous?"

I glance sideways at my brother Jax and shake my head grinning, "Naw, I've got this one in the bag."

He looks uncertain, "Well if you change your mind no one will hold it against you."

"What? And waste the last eight years of my life I spent training?" I joke. But as soon as I catch the look on my brother's face I wish I hadn't. Because that's exactly what he did, wasted it, and not even because he'd wanted to. Because he made a stupid mistake and fractured his leg in three separate places.

That had definitely come as a blow to our family, not only emotionally but also financially. Our parents had always scrapped by to put us through training. The idea was that they would be reimbursed tenfold when Jax won his games. But then he'd tripped coming down a flight of stairs a week before the reaping and the deal was off. Medical bills on top of that almost pushed our family over the brink. Dad had to start working double shifts in the nut and mom had to sell most of her jewelry in the small market she ran from the first floor of our house.

For some reason through all this I never stopped training. Until then I'd only eked by, not bad but not exactly good either. After Jax's accident the trainers came at me with a new sort of furry and eventually I realized that with Jax out of the games forever that meant it was up to me to bring victory back to my family.

That was five years ago, and the burden doesn't feel quite so heavy on my shoulders now. I didn't waste those years of training, pushing myself each moment until I was finally truly prepared. I can almost hear the screams of capitolites, feel the glare of stage lights as they welcome their newest victor. It was an intoxicating thought.

We walk along in silence for another few minutes until we reach the town square. Already the capitol camera crews are swarming all over the place. A few have even perched on the roofs of the ugly brown stone building that line the square, their cameras trained gleefully on the steps of the justice building where our capitol escort, a man with aqua green hair, is talking animatedly to a previous victor. I'm not completely sure but I think he might be wearing heeled boots. Ridiculous.

A large area in front of the justice building is roped off, and even though we're early it's already nearly packed with eager teens. Peacekeepers prowl around the perimeter making sure no fights break out. Sometimes the volunteering process gets ugly.

Jax smooths the front of his white uniform anxiously, "I gotta go, Sergius will be waiting." Since his plans for the games fell through he's been training to be a peacekeeper. The head peacekeeper Sergius says soon he'll be able to deploy out to one of the outer districts, serve for twenty years before retiring in relative comfort.

I watch him go then saunter over to where kids are signing in. There's a line but I brush through it to the front. A few kids protest but quickly fall silent, after all I'm a lot bigger than them.

My friends Mason and Larkus are waiting for me on the other side of check in. I join them and for a few moments I'm engulfed in a cloud of back clapping, man hugs, and all around congratulations.

"You're gonna have to kick some serious butt in there." Mason crows, "Show the other districts who's boss." The three of us have trained together for as long as I can remember and I'm glad that they're not jealous that the trainer picked me to volunteer and not them.

"So is it true?" Larkus asks as he steers me towards the eighteen year olds section, "I heard you got in to Sabina Loels pants at that party at that party last weekend."

I smirk, "So what if I did?"

"Way to go man, she's gotta be one of the hottest girls in school."

"Ugh, that's so not fair!" Mason shakes his head. He's spiked up his hair today and coupled with his round eyes its looks as though he stuck his finger in an electrical outlet. "How come you always get the girls? I tried to talk to Sabina once and she just looked at me like I was a dead slug or something."

I shrug, "What can I say."

"You are so lucky." Mason aims a painful punch at my arm but misses and ends up catching me in the side.

"Ouch, careful dude this is victor material right here. Don't wanna damage it." I joke.

"Ah don't be such an ass Jason." Larkus' face is dead pan serious but I know the teasing tone in his voice.

We don't end up having to wait much longer. Soon the aqua haired capitolite meanders up onto the steps of the justice building and begins to give out introductions. From what I understand from watching old games reels, in most districts they start by introducing all the living victors and reading off the names of those no longer alive. However, district 2 has far too many for this to be effective. Instead only the two that will be mentors this year are introduced. This year we have thirty or so year old woman named Nerva Cutter, I wasn't alive during her games but I've hear she won by crushing her opponents with a heavy metal club. The second is Marcus Sanders, with his ugly scar. He only won two years ago so I'm surprised they let him mentor. Besides, apart from a dramatic turn of events in which he cut out an opponent's eyes, his games were really nothing special. But then, I've heard he's a favorite in the capitol.

After the introductions are made, the man whose name is Octavius, gives a short speech about the origin of the games. There's a presentation, which I've seen more times than I can count. Out of the corner of my eye I see Larkus mouthing along the words and fight the urge to laugh.

"Now, it is time to see who our two lucky tributes will be this year," Octavius gushes when the video is over, "As always we will start with the girls."

He crosses to the first glass bowl and I see that I was correct in thinking he was wearing heels. He dips one heavily manicured hand into the dish and pulls out a neatly folded slip of white paper. The whole square seems to hold its breath, not for the slip itself but for what will come after. All around people are leaning forward eagerly.

"Marc—"

"I volunteer!" A girl's voice rang across the square, slightly shrill. Heads snap around, everyone trying to see who our volunteer will be.

"Well, come up here darling." The escort has apparently spotted her.

A girl in a green dress climbs up onto the stage. For a volunteer there's something almost timid about how she moves. Her brown hair is braided and her round face looks slightly familiar.

"And what's your name love?"

Her eyes dart nervously around, looking for someone familiar in the crowd no doubt. Pathetic. Tributes, especially volunteers should be bolder. "M-Melody Sanders."

Sanders. Melody Sanders. Marcus Sanders. He must be her brother, no wonder he wanted to mentor this year. Whatever her attitude is having a brother as a mentor is a distinct advantage. Also now I know why she looked so familiar. We used to train together, though, I haven't seen her at training in years, not since her brother won in fact. But judging by the fact that she's standing up on the stage she must have been trained privately. Her brother probably had a hand in that too.

"Oh! Another Sanders! What an interesting year this will be!" He ushers her off to stand by her brother, "Now time for the boys. Felix Austi—"

"I volunteer!" I don't even let her finish the name. I know if I don't seize the opportunity that someone else will. I don't wait to be invited up onto the stage instead stride boldly forward. Octavius holds out a hand to help me up but I brush it away.

"And what's your name young man?"

"Jason Ashlar, soon to be victor of the 57th annual Hunger Games."


	5. District 3 Reaping

District 3: Reaping Day

**Hello, here is the reaping for D3. As usual I hope I did the characters justice. Also if you still wanted to submit a tribute the boy from 9 is open and the girl from 4 has just become unreserved. I really need the D4 girl to write the next chapter so I hope to receive her soon. I apologize to the person who reserved her but I haven't heard back from you in a week and the story must move forward. Enjoy!**

District 3: Reaping Day

**Helix Boltt 18**

"Chuck is my nice shirt out there?"

"Which one?"

"I only have one nice shirt." I curse under my breath and throw the wadded up sheets back on my bed. I must have left it at Statis' house. If I remember correctly I'd worn it on our last fateful date. Considering how we broke up I doubt she'd be inclined to give it back.

I glance around the small room, looking for something, anything to wear. Most of my clothes are dirty, and the ones that aren't wouldn't pass for something as official as the reaping. After a few more minutes I give up and pull on my leather jacket.

Out in the living room Chuck is lounging on the moth eaten sofa, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

When he sees what I'm wearing he whistles, "Nice look Helix, I'm sure all the capitol girls will faint at the site of you on their TV's."

"Whatever dude. There's gonna be hundreds of people there, I doubt they'd notice me if I wore a chicken suit." Never the less I zip it up.

"A chicken suit that showed off your abs?"

"Shut up." I roll my eyes. Chuck likes to aggravate me but I tolerate it. After all he's the one who let me crash at his place when his parents kicked him out. He even got me a job in one of the hard drive factories, hauling shipping containers. It didn't last long, but at least it was a job.

He wrinkles his nose a bit. "It's a pig sty in here by the way. Don't you ever clean?"

"I've been busy." I check the cabinets, not much in there except a half loaf of old bread. It's the flat dry kind made from tesserae grain but it'll do for a quick breakfast.

"With what? Your gym?"

"It's gonna work out, just wait and see." A year or so ago I got the idea from watching the hunger games training scores of building a gym in district 3. That way people can get a bit of training in, and maybe, just maybe our kids won't get slaughtered every year. I used the money I got from the factory as well as some I took from my parents before I moved out and managed to buy this little place. It's in the bad end of town and was pretty run down, but I enlisted Chuck to help me fix it up. The important part was that it had a basement that I could use to kick start my idea.

So far it's been rough going though, equipment is expensive and most of what I can afford is broken or so ancient it barely works. Of the people that do turn up from time to time most are just bored Peacekeepers with nothing better to do. Occasionally a wealthy family drops in to get their kid a few lessons with a knife just in case. But most people in district 3 would rather have their eyes glued to a computer screen than take a turn lifting weights. It doesnt help that my own 'training' is more observance over the years than anything else.

"Sure, that or you'll end up working at the disassembly plant." Everyone in 3 knew that working at the disassembly plant was the lowest of the low.

I ignore the comment as I finish off the bread, then turn to look at Chuck, "So you never said why you stopped by anyways?"

He stretched, shaggy brown hair falling back from his face, "Just thought I'd say hi. It's your last reaping after all. Gotta wish you luck."

"Thanks."

"Nervous?"

"Nah." I smile crookedly, "I've pretty much made it at this point. Besides soon as this is over I'll be able to finally get a move on my life."

In district 3 we have to attend school until our last reaping—though I skip almost every class—so I'm technically not allowed to work full time yet. I've had to start running a profitable, all be it illegal, business fixing up old computers and electronics to pay for all the expenses of starting up the gym. I try and keep this under wraps though. I doubt even the peacekeepers that frequent the gym would be cool with it, and besides I don't want to get a reputation as the looser geek that plays with computers.

Chuck laughs, "Hey don't jinx it, still got one more day left."

"Yeah but even if I did get reaped I bet I could take those losers from 1 and 2." I might not have much experience with weapons but I've ran and lifted weights for years. I bet I'm just as powerful as any well fed capitol lap dog. If on the off chance I got reaped I could probably pick up a weapon relatively fast. But in all honesty I'm not too concerned about it, I've already pretty much run the gauntlet. Only one day left after all. "And speaking of the reaping what time is it?"

Chuck looks down at his wrist, "Ten fifteen."

"Shit, I gotta go." I dig around in my pocket, and pulling out a key toss it to Chuck. He catches it deftly. "Lock up would you? Don't be late."

Then I dash out, leaving the door swinging behind me. The street outside is dismal under the grey sky. The old buildings and stores look derelict, all the shutters drawn and door locked. No doubt their inhabitants are already at the reaping. Outside of a tiny grocery a dumpster has been overturned, spewing its foul contents into the unpaved street. Not exactly the best part of town.

I race through the winding streets, knowing that if I don't run I'll surely be late. As I approach the center of town the buildings get larger. Crumpling houses are replaced by large enclosed research centers and giant factories. The center of district 3 itself is a rather barren square, at one end our justice building made completely of grey stone with a clock projected onto the front, at the other is Panem Technincial Training Acedemy with its sleek glass front. Called the PTTA its where our best and brightest go to school, and hopefully grow up to be inventors. Back when I was still living at home my mother made me take the entrance exam. Seeing as they only take fifty new kids a year not getting in wasn't really a surprise.

Usually the streets around the square are empty but today they are packed with people, nervous families and loners alike. I have to fight my way through the crowd to reach the roped off area where Peacekeepers are taking blood samples. I stamp my blood under where my name is printed and after a quick scan then let me in.

Within the enclosure all the kids have been arranged by age. I spy the eighteen year olds area and start to weave my way towards it. But the crowd is so thick that I end up crashing into a bespectacled girl in a blue dress. I disentangle myself and finally win free, just as the mayor begins speaking. Good, right on time.

**Pixel Blixen 14**

"_Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,  
And will not let belief take hold of him  
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:  
Therefore I have entreated him along  
With us to watch the minutes of this night;  
That if again—"_

I look up from the book in annoyance as a boy in a leather jacket bumps into me. The boy doesn't even stop to apologies, instead pushes on through the crowd.

All around people are talking nervously, voices heightened with anticipation. A few paces away a group of girls in rather worn dresses are sobbing hysterically. They can't be older than 12, this must be their first reaping. I shake my head trying my best to zone them out, and return my nose to the book. Hamlet is my favorite after all.

"—_this apparition come,  
He may approve our eyes and speak to it"_

It's no use. The little bit of concentration I managed to garner has abandoned me, my head instead filling with the annoying buzz and chatter of those around me. I shift from foot to foot suddenly anxious for this whole thing to be over with. More than anything I want to get away from the crowd, to find somewhere quiet where my mind won't be constantly snatched away by what's going on around me.

As the giant electronic clock on the justice building's front ticks closer and closer to ten thirty, more and more people press into the roped off enclosure. It's not a particularly warm day but the air soon becomes stuffy and a trickle of sweat runs down my back. With one damp palm I reach down and hastily smooth the front of my blue dress. The fabric is warm and comforting under my fingers. My mother's dress, I only get to wear it once a year. But then she always looked better in it that I did. I'm too small and scrawny for it to fit right.

Standing on my tip toes I try to scan the crowd for Teplex. I know he'll be off in the seventeen year olds section but there are too many people between here and there and I can't catch a glimpse of him. But then I'm not quite sure if I want to.

All the cruel things he said last night still float around in my head. _"Nobody likes you because you're a big nerd!" _And mom and dad don't like you because you don't take anything seriously! Oh how I'd longed to say it, cut him back just as deep as he's cut me. But his lack of prowess in school wasn't his fault. We both had our attention problems, I was just better at dealing with it. Even so his words had stung. Was I really a nerd? Maybe that's why the other kids avoided me.

Thankfully such thoughts are wiped away as a loud clamor arises from where I know the justice building sits. I can hear the mayor talking into a microphone though his words are not distinct.

I stand on my tippy toes and crane my neck trying to get a glimpse of what's going on. A group of tall girls block my view so I sink back onto the soles of my feet and content myself to listen to what's being said instead.

"—And the victor of the 38th hunger games Wiress Ryam." The mayor is saying. He must be introducing our past victors, a pitifully small group. "Now," He says when he has concluded the last name, "May I present, all the way from the capitol, Ovidius."

"And what an honor to be here," Another man is speaking, him with the strange clipped accent of the capitol. Ovidius, he's been our district escort since before I was born. I wonder what color his skin is this year. He prattles on for a few more minutes about how important district 3 is to the capitol before he's finished with introductions.

"Now," I can just imagine Ovidius spreading his hands dramatically, "let's move on to what everyone really wants to know. Who will be this year's tributes from district 3?" There a rustling of paper and shutting my eyes I can envision the singular slip of while paper being drawn from the glass bowl. "This year's female tribute from district 3 will be…Pixel Blixen."

I've hated standing still my whole life, but in this instant I am frozen. All around people are looking at each other in confusion, searching for the poor girl whose name they don't recognize. Sooner or later they'll find me. I blink, one, two, three times and take in a deep breath.

"Pixel Blixen?" Ovidius calls again. Tentatively I put one foot forward, and then another, until somehow I'm standing at the top of the steps of the justice building. From here I can see everyone, all the upturned faces, the confused glances because they can't recall if they've ever met a Pixel Blixen.

"Wonderful!" Ovidius ushers me along with him as he crosses to the second glass bowl. Vaguely I think I was right in wondering if his skin color had changed. Where it used to be lilac it's now more of a light plum. "Now, time for our boy."

I don't even listen as the name is called out. I feel as though I've gone numb, crucified as I am by the gaze of hundreds.

The next think I know a boy is on stage with me and Ovidius is asking us to shake hands. I look up at him and feel as though I might be sick. Tall and muscular with messy black hair I know that if I have to go up against someone like him I'll be dead in a minute. He holds out his hand and we shake. I can't help noting that while he appears calm his palm is moist with perspiration.

"Let's have a big hand for this young lady and gentleman." There's a smattering of halfhearted applause before white garbed peacekeepers begin to usher us back towards the open door of the justice building.

"I'm Helix by the way." I look up at him. Despite his formidable appearance his hazel eyes are warm.

"Pixel." I try to smile but am sure it comes out more as a grimace.

We're separated at the entrance to a long hall and two peacekeepers lead me into a little room before shutting the door with a muffled thump behind me. There is plush, rather ragged looking sofa, but the manic energy that so abandoned me at the reaping has returned and instead I pace back and forth, fingers drumming out rhythms against my thighs.

I don't have to wait long. Soon there is a shout and three people burst into the little room. My mom envelopes me in tight hug. I can feel the tears on her cheeks. My father stands a little to the side with Templex.

"Oh Honey I'm so sorry!" She sobs pulling me closer, one hand stroking my dark hair like she used to when I was little, "I'm so sorry!"

I try in vain to fight the tears that suddenly come welling to my eyes.

I don't tell her that it will be okay, or that I'll come back. The truth is its not and never will be okay. As for coming back, there will be 24 of us in that arena and only one can live. My odds aren't exactly good.

We only have a few minutes so soon my mom withdraws her arms to allow my father and Templex a chance to say goodbye.

My dad hugs me, one of the few times in my life he's ever none so. "It will be all right Pixel, remember, you're smarter than all of them. You can use that."

Then he goes to stand by my mother. Templex gaze is pointed downward at his shoes.

"We'll give you two a moment," My mother says apparently sensing Templex's reluctance. "Just remember Pixel, whatever happens, we love you."

Then she and my father are gone. Templex looks up at me and I see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. My brother, who never cries, is on the verge of tears. The very thought is enough to send my own tears flowing down my cheeks again.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He whispers enveloping me in his arms, "I didn't mean all of those things I said. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I choke back.

He pulls back to look me in the face, "Just promise you'll be smart in there okay?"

"I will. You know I will."

He removes by thick glasses and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his sleeve, "Gotta make you look pretty for the capitol. No more tear."

I smile weakly, "No more tears."

The rest of the visit is a blurr to me, Teplex's final goodbye, the peacekeepers leading me through the justice building. It's not until I'm seated next to Helix and Ovidius in the black capitol made car that I realize I'm still holding my little copy of Hamlet. I guess I'll have something to read on the train ride.


	6. District 4 Reaping

**Ah district 4! As usual I hope I did the tributes well. Sorry for the delay with this but I had to wait for the girl to come in. Enjoy!**

District 4: Reaping Day

**Jericho Harman 14**

The fibers of the net twine together under my fingers. The rope is crusty, damp, and smells heavily of fish. It's a horrid odor, but I don't mind. The smell of fish is everywhere in our little house down by the docks.

Eventually I find what I'm looking for, a jagged gash in net, all the fibers coming unraveled. It must have gotten caught on a rock. I only hope it's repairable, we certainly don't have money for new nets and my mom doesn't have time to make them.

"What are you doing Kelp Head?" My sister Allycia stares down at me, sandy blond hair in waves all around her face. She's in her reaping clothes, a grey cotton dress, but nevertheless kneels down beside me in the muck.

"Net's torn."

She holds out a hand expectantly and I pass it over. She moves deftly with her fingers weaving the ropes into such a fantastical knot that I'm sure it will never hold.

"There." She holds it out and tug experimentally on it. To my surprise it holds.

"How did you do that?"

"I have my secrets. I _am _the better twin after all." She wrinkles her nose in sudden disgust. "Are you really going to wear that?"

I look down and realize what she means. My grey slacks and blue shirt are slimed with filth from the wooden boards where I've been sitting. It looks like I'll be going smelly to the reapings this year. Not really a good first impression.

Daintily, like some sort of lady from the capitol films that occasionally air on our old TV set Allycia folds her dress up beneath herself and sits beside me. Her legs dangle off the edge of the dock into the milky grey water.

I stare at her, "What are you doing? You're going to get your dress all dirty?"

"Well nobody's going to be looking at me are they? So it doesn't really matter." She looks at me like I may be the most monumental block head in district 4. On an ordinary day I might be ready to shoot back a clever retort but today I just don't have it in me. "So…" She smiles brightly, "Are you ready to go embarrass the district on national TV?"

"I'm not going to embarrass the district." I glare.

"Really? Cause Cella and I have a bet. She says you're gonna get tangled up it your own net. I told her that's stupid because any net you'd make would have too many holes in it to get caught in and that instead you'd trip over that oversized trident of yours." I know she's joking, that the way it's always been. But instead of returning the joke I just stare into the slate grey water. Seaweed and algae cling to the docks rotted pilings and occasionally a piece of litter floats by. I glance over to the far size of the bay. The white houses shine in the sunlight, the unsullied water reflecting them. The wooden peers that are everywhere in district 4 are neat, without rot clinging to every board, and the beaches stretch on sandy white. That's where the wealthy of District 4 live, and in their own gated community the past victors. That's where we'll live when I win my games.

From the look on Allycia's face I can tell she knows what I'm thinking about, "Have you told mom yet?"

I shake my head. Our mom might have trained us with weapons but she'd have a heart attack if she knew that I actually wanted to enter into the games. As far as she was concerned training was just a necessary precaution. Learning how to work with tridents and nets was easy enough, and in the end it always helped bring in more fish.

"You should you know." I always hated it, the way Allycia's eyes tug at me pulling out all the little secrets. It's been this way since we were little. However, while she can read me like an open book it's never worked the other way around. Her thoughts have always been one of life's greatest mysteries.

"Probably."

"Ugh." She sighs, heaving her shoulders dramatically, "You have gotten so serious, ever since all this Hunger Games stuff came up. I miss the old Jericho! Five years ago you wouldn't have cares about the reaping, instead you'd have pushed me off this dock and jumped in to save me."

I raise one eyebrow a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, "I'll still push you in now."

**Marla Illene 16 **

The cool ocean breeze whips at my dress and I taste salt on my lips. It's a perfect day. The fog that often hangs low over the coast has melted away and the sun makes the water glitter. The long dock that reach like fingers into the sea are whitewashed by their constant exposure.

This would be a great day for diving.

_ Later._ I think. _As soon as the reaping is over. _The straps of my swimsuit dig into my skin underneath my flowery sundress. The soles of my sandals are coated in the sand that follows me wherever I go.

"You look wonderful Marla." I look around to see my mom. She's dressed smartly in crisp blue dress suit. Her ashy blonde hair has been piled up above her sharp blue gaze. In her arm our dog Skipper squirms.

"Thanks mom." She deposits Skipper on the ground where he nips playfully at my ankles before losing interest and deciding instead to dig a hole in one of our flower beds.

My mom is watching Skipper intently as he mutilates her garden. Her lips are thinned, the same expression I make whenever I'm displeased. "I thought he would cheer you up, instead it looks like he's going to destroy all my daisies."

We both laugh as Skipper loses interest in the garden and instead chases his fluffy white tail round and round. The knot of unease that has been ever present in my chest for the last few days begins to unravel a little bit.

I kneel down on the stony path and spread my arms out to the dog. "Skipper! Skipper!" He bounds into my arms and I scoop him up. "Who's a good boy?"

"Marla really?" My mother raises one penciled eyebrow, "Look he's getting you all dirty."

It's true. Skipper paws once buried in garden have left muddy prints all across the bodice of my dress. I shrug, "It's not like anyone's going to notice."

She tuts, "Your father is a very important man, try not to disappoint him."

I sigh and put skipper down, dusting off my dress. She's right. I have the family name to uphold. Never in a million years could the daughter of Roman Illene, the influential fisheries owner be seen in gasp a dirty dress.

"Where is dad by the way?" I crane my neck back towards the door of our house, but its shut and I see no movement behind the panes of glass.

"Oh, he had to go early, wanted to talk with the mayor a bit about relaxing the catch size rules. Not that he won't have plenty of opportunity at the party later." Every year after the reaping my family always attends a party at the Mayor's house. The wealthy families of the district celebrate their children's fortunes at either not being reaped or at volunteering, watch the rest of the reapings, and most importantly talk business.

"Yeah about that," I shift nervously, "I was gonna go swimming with Casey and Summer after the reapings."

"What about the party? You can't miss it."

"I know. I know. I'll just be a little bit late."

"Hmm. As long as you swing by the house afterwards and change into something presentable."

"Thanks mom." Together we start off down the narrow street that leads from our neighborhood to the main street. The sandy track crunches under our feet as we encounter the occasional seashell.

As we pass through the gate that guards the nicer sections of town the streets become dirtier and much more crowded. Families bustle along herding their children before them. As is usual everyone is dressed in their best, even those unfortunates who come from the shanties down by the wharves have made an effort. As we walk we are passed by a family all with light brown hair and green eyes. Of the six kids the oldest is about eighteen, the youngest ten or eleven. I nod at the eighteen year old, Nixie is her name. She nods back in recognition. I don't know her well but I knew her brother. Or at least I used to.

Dune Casteway, he volunteered for the Hunger Games two years ago. He was sixteen at the time, two years older than me. Despite coming from a much rougher part of town he was part of a group of kids that hung out on the beach after school, a group I was part of. He'd trained his whole life with the instruments of war and swore that when he was eighteen he would bring home victory to district 4. I have lots of memories of sitting on the warm sand listening to Dune preach about how wonderful life would be after he had won. It would be glorious he said. Not knowing any better I'd devoured his words. But when he was sixteen his youngest brother Raye became seriously ill. Dune volunteered that year, determined to win the prize money for his brother's cure. Miraculously after a few weeks Raye began to recover, what the doctor's had thought to be life threatening turned out to be nothing more than a severe bacterial infection. Dune on the other hand didn't. I watched on our TV screen as he was stabbed six times through the stomach by a boy from district 10.

It was right then that I decided I didn't want anything to do with the hunger games. I still trained, everyone who could afford to did, but my efforts became halfhearted. All the glory Dune had talked about turned out to be nothing more than blood on the Arena dirt and a quiet funeral when he returned in a plain wooden box. I'd seen and even known many kids that had gone into the arena and not come out but that was the first time it hit so close to home.

We turn right at the junction of the main road and Bollard Street, and arrive at the justice building. Situated at the far end of a circular promenade—which today has been decorated by many banners—has a commanding view of the harbor and of the fishing boats going in and out.

In the square's center a great area has been roped off, just outside of it Peacekeepers are signing everyone in. My mom bids me farewell and I stand in line behind two wharf kids before finally signing in. Once permitted entrance I scan the crowd for Summer but with this many people all crammed together it's not a surprise when I fail to locate her. Instead I go to stand where most of the other sixteen year olds have congregated. A few people whisper hello but for the most part everyone is silent waiting for the reaping to begin.

We don't have to wait long. Soon a woman with lime green hair and lips prances up on stage and introduces herself as Rheea. She's new, up until this year our reapings have always been done by a heavily tattooed man by the name of Gaius. I can't say I object to the change, Gaius always made rude comments about our tributes. She practically flies through the introductions and before I know it she's dipping her hand into the girl's dish.

"Now let's see who this year's lovely lady will be." She folds open the unlucky slip of paper, "Marla Illene."

There is a certain feeling when you are swimming, of weightlessness and deafness. This is how I feel as I ascend the steps of the justice building. This cannot, cannot be happening.

"Why, what a lovely thing you are!" Rheea beams as she inspects my face, "She'll have no shortage of sponsors." My only hope now is for someone anyone to volunteer. But even though 4 trains tributes volunteers aren't a for sure thing. It really just depends on the year. And when Rheea asks and is greeted by silence I know this is a bad one. I heard a rumor in school that Allycia Harman was going to volunteer but apparently not. She's only fourteen after all. "Now for our boy." She dives in for another slip. "Kai Barkir."

"I volunteer!" A tall boy strides forward from the fourteen year old section. His hair is a light sandy blonde and his eyes are green. Beside him the crowd stands a girl with the same light hair and eyes. Strangely both of their clothes are wet, as though they decided to take a swim before coming here. She squeezes his hand then I squares his shoulders and marches onto the stage.

"And what is your name?"

"Jericho Harman." Now I know why the name of Harman sounds familiar, it wasn't Allycia volunteering it was her brother. What a fool to go at fourteen.

We shake hands and I look into his green eyes and am reminded startlingly of Dune. It's at that moment when I know: I am going into this arena, and just like Dune I am never coming out.

**Jericho Harman 14**

"What were you thinking?!" My mother is screaming and crying. Allycia pats her head, face impassive.

"You trained me mom, I'll be fine." My damp clothes stick to my body and to the leather seat beneath me. Something tells me pushing Allycia off the dock wasn't a good idea as far as comfort was concerned.

"I trained you so you would have a chance if you were reaped! Not so you could volunteer! At fourteen no less!"

"Don't worry mom," Allycia interjects calmly, "Jericho knows what he's doing. Just think, when he gets back we'll be able to move into the victor's village. You won't have to go out on those boats anymore. Our house won't smell like fish."

I join them, embracing them both in an enormous bear hug, "It's gonna be fine, you'll see."

"Oh," My mother looks up at me, one hand cupping my face, "My little boy. You go away today and what if you never come back to me?"

"I will I promise."

"You're so much like your father. So strong, so stupid." She tries in vain to wipe the tears from her cheeks and I realize with a start that this is the first time in years I've seen her cry, not since my dad died in a shipwreck. "You know what you're going to have to do in that arena?"

"I do."

"Stick with your district partner, she looks like a nice girl." She hiccups. "Make sure the sponsors like you. A handsome boy like you, you'll have no trouble."

She have much other advice to give, all any of us knows comes from watching the games on our old crackling TV set.

The time is almost up when Allycia taps my mother gently on the shoulder and whispers something into her ear. Her face seems to melt as she embraces me again.

"I'll see you in a few weeks Jericho." She whispers caressing my head, then she departs closing the door behind her and leaving me alone with Allycia.

"She's right you know," Allycia's voice sounds hollow to my ears, "you'll need all the sponsors you can get. And allies, you'll need them too."

"The kids in academy always say not to trust anyone."

"The academy kids volunteer often enough, and where does that get them? Dead in a wooden box somewhere. 4 is a career district Jericho, which makes you a career. Make nice with 1 and 2, make them see that they need you."

I smile wryly, "Wish you could come with me to the capitol, you'd be an excellent mentor."

"Maybe." She smiles back, "Maybe in a few years we'll both be mentoring together." Then she dips a hand inside the pocket of her dress, "I almost forgot. I want you to have this, take it into the arena with you."

I take whatever it is that she's holding out to me and see is a small pearl hung on golden chain.

"Is this what I think it is?" Five or six years ago Allycia and I snuck into the restricted area of the beach, where the rich families lived. She was swimming but I stayed on the beach to keep lookout. Almost by accident I found the necklace in the sand. Some rich woman must have dropped it. Allycia had immediately claimed it as her own, because of course there was no way I could wear a girl's necklace. I'd protested that we could sell it but Allycia who had never had something so nice before refused. I hadn't seen it since that day.

"You thought I'd got rid of it?"

"Are you sure you want me to have this?"

"You found it. Besides I know you'll need _something_ to remind yourself of me in the capitol." I hug her tight, my other half pressed against me for what might be the last time. "Fight this one for me, brother."


	7. District 5 Reaping

**Here is district 5, I hope the characters have been done well and that everyone enjoys it. For some reason this chapter was actually incredibly challenging to write. I'm not sure why. Also on the tribute availability front there are currently two spots open (the pair from district 11). The tribute list is updated with every new chapter so please check it if you are still interested in submitting. Thanks!**

District 5: Reaping Day

**Rosie Marcellino 12**

The blinding glare of electric lights awakened me from a dream of swimming. Cold air stings my face. I groan drawing my limbs into a tight ball and burying my face in the course pillow.

"Get up Twigs!" The cover is ripped back and I pop open one eye to gaze up at the dingy ceiling. All around me comes the rustle and quiet chatter of twenty or so girls getting ready for the day. Eletra Finch's ugly face hovers a few inches from mine, her crooked teeth barred in a savage grin.

"Five more minutes." I whisper closing my eyes. That earns me a painful jab in the ribs.

"Don't even think about talking back to me Twigs." I practically scamper after that, desperate to get away from Eletra's beady eyes. She's only fourteen, not the oldest here by far, but she's built like a power plant laborer and all of us younger kids know better than to try and get on her bad side. Try is the key word there, since I'm not entirely sure Eletra has a good side.

Nobody pays me much heed as I pass through the rows of bunk beds to the far corner where bundles of clothes have been laid out with kids names printed on them. Reaping clothes. There's no way the home could afford reaping clothes for all the kids that live here so only the ones who are actually entered will be dressed nice. The rest will attend in whatever rags they usually wear.

After I find my bundle, the name Marcellino carefully printed on it in black letters, I queue up behind the others to splash some water on my face from the scummy basin in the corner and then look in the mirror. My hair has frizzed up overnight so that it looks less like a bob and more like a lions mane. It takes another handful of water to make the thick bangs lie flat after which point some of the older girls are starring daggers at me for taking so long.

I scamper off to change into my reaping clothes, slightly self-conscious with the lack of privacy. Usually I wait until everyone's gone down to breakfast to change but today that isn't an option. The dress I've been given is a soft yellow thing. A sun dress of sorts, it has a big white ribbon round the waist. It's easy to see that it was once very pretty but a collection of tears and stains have long since disfigured it. I remember Vida wore it last year and Deena the year before. Neither of them were reaped so maybe I'll have the same luck. Then I tidy my bed and belongings meager as they are. Most of my things where confiscated when my parents died and never returned. I don't suppose I would have had much use for them here anyways.

I wonder what the schedule will be today. Usually we have school all day but its cancled for the reaping. Maybe afterwards I'll ask Liam to take me down to the lake to swim. It's my favorite place in district 5.

I'm just turning to leave, thinking I might actually make it to breakfast before all the foods gone when a small voice calls out.

"Rosie, um can you come over here and help me?" The speaker is Nina Brites, wispy girl that despite being the same age as me looks more like a nine year old. She's standing over by the basin and is fumbling with the zipper on the back of her dress, unable to reach it. She looks at me tremulously, shaking slightly.

"One second." I glance around making sure the older girls aren't occupied.

Inspecting the zipper up close its easy to see that it's snagged in the fabric. But I don't chance to try and fix it because at that moment there's a great whoop that can only belong to Eletra. A strong hand seizes the hair at the back of my head. I yelp in pain and the next thing I know my face has been dunked into the filthy water of the basin. I come up gasping, scrambling backwards desperately.

Everyone is laughing, except for Nina who is sobbing.

"They made me! They made me Rosie!" She cries.

"Shut it Midge!" Eletra barks at Nina, "Unless you fancy going next." She turns her beady eyes on me, "How was that Twiggy? Though since you like the water so much you might fancy a swim." They all laugh again, even the ones who hate Eletra.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I don't want to give Eletra the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"You gonna cry Twigs?" She bares her teeth in a wicked grin, "Go ahead and then we can wash your face again. Don't wanna go to the reaping all splotchy."

She makes a move to grab me again but I duck under her outstretched fingers and dash to the door. I'm down two flights of stairs before I stop to make sure she's not following me.

"Hey Rosie!" My head snaps around but its only Alex grinning like a fiend. His grin falters a bit when he sees the state of me. "Why are you all wet?"

I push my now sopping hair out of my face, "Eletra pushed me in the wash basin."

"I hate her, and all the other stupid kids here." He knows as well as I do how cruel they can be. With his shockingly white hair and oversized glasses he's been a target since day one. It's actually the reason we first became friends. "Hey but at least we have each other, and if you want I can wipe some sewage on her mattress."

"Us losers will stick together." I grin, "But please don't do anything you'll get in trouble for." Alex always know how to cheer me up.

"Well if you don't like the sewage idea we can always do some brainstorming and find the perfect way to extract revenge." There's a manic sort of glint in his eyes and it makes me glad that I'm not on his bad side. He always comes up with the best payback plans.

"After the reaping okay?" I promise, "Do you know where my brother is?"

"Oh yeah I just saw him in the cafeteria. He was saving you a plate." Alex bobs his head up and down a few times in a gesture that reminds me strangely of a bird. There's the sudden noise of shoes on the stairs, it must be the rest of the girls.

"I should probably go." I wave to Alex before ducking around the corner into the cafeteria.

The home cafeteria is not a pretty place, well nothing here really is, but it counts as extra ugly. A larger room illuminated by industrial lights which have been mounted haphazardly on the ceiling. They shine their flat light on ten or so long metal tables. In one corner a grim and haggard looking woman is serving some sort of unappealing brown mush in tin bowls.

I find my brother easily. He's sitting with his friend Rueben, pickling moodily at the contents of his bowl while Rueben talks. I scoot in next to them, trying to ignore the stares of the other kids, no doubt wondering why I'm sopping wet.

"Mrs. Darens said I could come work in her shop for a few months." My brother is saying.

Rueben shakes his head, "That's no good. You'd make better money in the power plants, that's where I'm going."

I feel my heart sink. They're talking about their future. In a few weeks all the eighteen year olds will be discharged from the home, to find work and make a living in the district. My brother Liam will be one of them. Being the younger sibling there's never been a time in my life when I've been without him. He's been there for everything and the thought of not being able to seek out his comfort scares me almost as much as the idea of being a lone in the care home.

"No I don't think I could do that not after…" He trails off and I know he's thinking of our parents. I don't remember them, I was only a baby when they died in a power plant explosion, but I know Liam who was seven at the time still remembers.

"Oh right sorry." Rueben clams up pretty quick. None of the kids here have great pasts and there's an unspoken rule that we don't bring them up.

Liam looks around for the first time and catches sight of me, "Hey Rosie, you look nice. But why are you all wet?"

I glance about, Eletra and her gang have just sat down across the room and are laughing loudly.

"I tripped and fell into the wash basin."

"Are you sure?" He raises one eyebrow and I know he's not buying it.

"Yeah," I try my best reassuring smile, "Nina left her school book out and I tripped over it." I don't tell him the truth. Liam is an easy going sort of person, much more outgoing than me, but years of only having each other has made him protective. I don't want him getting kicked out early for trying to beat up Eletra or her cronies.

"If you say so." He doesn't sound convinced but he lets the matter go, "Hey I was thinking do you want to go down to the lake after the reaping?"

I beam, "Can we? Really?"

"Sure," He smile, tipping back in the metal chair so that the legs screech against the tile floor, "We can go swimming, celebrate another year free." He doesn't mention what we'll do if one of us does get reaped. I wouldn't tell him so but I'm worried for Liam. At eighteen he's got his name entered more times than I can count. Just because we live in the home doesn't mean we're exempt from taking tesserae, in fact we're required to do so. Feeding this many kids is hard so each year those that are eligible take out a tessera for themselves as well as any natural sibling they may have. This means that while most kids only have to take one a year Liam has been taking out two. It's not exactly a good situation, but so far he's been lucky.

I'm just about to ask him if he thinks it will be sunny today when the flickering electric clock mounted on the wall lets out a thin high screeching sound. Everyone begins to move carelessly knocking dishes to the floor in their haste. We all stand and I find Liam's hand not wanting to be swept away in the commotion. It was time.

**Liam Marcellino 18**

I wish there were more trees in district 5. The whole place is so grey and uniform, lacking the color that might have made it beautiful. The houses the shop fronts, everything looks the same. The only remotely beautiful thing is the lake, glimmering slightly in the weak sunlight. But even that's not natural, the result of a dam whose turbines supply a fifth of the energy that pours out of 5. Even so I understand why it's Rosie's favorite place. She might have been born in the power district but I know water is in her heart.

As we crunch our way down the main street my eyes can't help finding the hulking image of power plant number 3, as it rises above the building. Mist and vapor curl from the enormous smoke stacks, the reactor must be running today.

I think about what Reuben said, _You'd make better money at a power plant. _

And I need the money, or at least I will. When the home turns me out I'll have to find a job, a roof, a way of providing for myself. And not just for me either. As soon as I can I want to take Rosie away. She thinks she's got me fooled but I know she didn't 'trip' into a bowl of water. I've never known why but the other kids have always picked on her. Smaller than the others, and quiet too, she just must make a good target. I want to get her away from all of that.

But first I'll need a good job. Even so I just can't bring myself to consider working in the place that killed our parents. Of course they've rebuilt it by now with no trace of the original structure but to me that ground is cursed.

Thankfully I'm distracted by this thought as we come into sight of the justice building. An ugly white thing its emblazoned with hundreds of capitol banners. Like we could forget who's responsible for the reaping. Camera men perch upon the roof and those of the surrounding buildings, taking live footage of the kids filing into the roped off area. Vaguely I make out a woman in silver wandering about the stage. It must be Laurela, our escort for the past years uncounted.

As our group of forty or so strong is herded down the roughly paved street I hold tight to Rosie's hand. There are people everywhere and I worry small as she is that she'll be lost in the tumult.

Other kids stare at the group as we pass, occasionally turning to whisper to their friends or parents. We're the home kids, the ones no one cared about and the separation is evident as they draw back from us. To them we are dirty and unwanted. After so many years I hardly notice it.

The head mistress Mrs. Birchens leads us to the sign in desk where peace keepers are sampling blood and recording it on crisp white paper.

"Form a line." She barks and everyone presses together, pushing and shoving to get to the front. In the end it's Eletra Finch who wins free, stamping her finger and prancing off into the roped enclosure. I come dead last, having pushed Rosie in front of me. Her eyes were wide when they jabbed the needle in her finger. I should have warned her but then Mrs Birchens would have had to drag her along. Rosie fears blood almost as much as she does the fat brown snakes that sometimes slither into the girl's dormitory.

Once I've been cleared I brush past the ranks of white outfitted peacekeepers. Rosie is waiting for me, still shaking slightly.

"What do I do now?" she asks. Despite watching the reapings her whole life, this is the first time she's actually been entered, her three little slips of paper added to the bowl.

I point towards the front of the crowd where a group of younger kids are standing nervously. Some of them are crying openly, clinging to each other the rest looked wide eyed and afraid. The first reaping is always the worst.

"Go stand with them ok?" In District 5 we always stand according to age. It makes it easier to identify the unlucky kids that get reaped.

"And what do I do?"

"Just stand with the others during the reaping and I'll come get you afterwards." I nudge her off. She looks at me, big blue eyes doubtful, but finds a place in the crowd next to Nina Brites.

Once I'm certain she's fine I make my way over to the eighteen year olds. Reuben is already there, as well as my friend Thomas. Thomas smiles grimly when he sees me.

"Last time." He says by way of greeting. Unlike Reuben and I his clothes are relatively rip and stain free, if a bit worn. Thomas is lucky, he has an actual home with parents to take care of him. They're on the poorer end but when compared to Reuben and I he's practically wealthy.

"How many times are you in?" Reuben asks.

"Thirty." Thomas' face is grim. For the last six years he's been obligated to take out tesserae not only for himself but for his little brother and parents. "You?"

"Only 12." Rueben admits.

"18" I say. Of the three of us Thomas is in the most danger, something he clearly knows from the look on his face.

"At least if we make it this year we'll be done." Reuben points out, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"Done and home free!" I grin. I'll still have to worry about Rosie but not living in constant fear of the games will be a huge weight off of my chest.

We wait for a few more minutes while the roped area becomes increasingly cramped and claustrophobic before everything's in place for the reaping to begin.

The mayor a heavy man with greying hair starts by giving a speech introducing our past victors, there aren't very many of them. The two that will be this year's mentors have a rather dazed look to them, out of their minds on drugs I think. Then our escort a woman named Laurela bounds up on stage. She's dressed in some sort of metallic foil like fabric that reflects the sun and makes looking at her nearly impossible.

"Welcome everyone! Aren't you all just so excited for this year's hunger games? I know I certainly am. It's been promised to be a particularly exciting year hasn't it?! Well I won't keep you waiting any longer. Let's find out who our lucky tributes will be." She marches across the steps of the justice building, silver heels clacking to the first glass bowl. Reaching one hand in she digs about for a bit before finally selecting a slip. "The female tribute for the 57th annual hunger games will be…Rosie Marcellino."

I sag against Thomas as if I've been shot. Rosie. It's Rosie. My baby sister, the only thing in the world I have. Thomas' strong arms pull me upright. I can see her now, face completely white as she's marched onto stage. Beneath her thick black bangs she looks like a ghost. Her eyes dart frantically, looking I'm sure for my face in the crowd. She finds it soon enough. Her lower lip is trembling as she looks at me pleadingly. I can see the pure terror mixing with tears in her eyes.

She knows well as I do that she can't win this. She's twelve and she's never touched a weapon before in her life. Without help she'll be dead by day one. Rosie. Rosie. Rosie.

I don't even pay attention as the boy tributes name is called out, as he ascends the steps. All I can think of is my sweet little sister, bled out on the arena floor. And I know I can't let that happen. I have whole life ahead of me but what does it mean if she's not there to share it with me. I step forward out of the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Rueben hisses.

_ I'm going with her to the end. _

I look up at Rosie and say the two words that will mean my certain death but might be just enough to buy my sister's life. "I volunteer."


	8. District 6 Reaping

**District 6! Let's see what you make of these guys. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up sometime late next week only because I have to go to a wedding over the weekend and won't be able to write (the horror!). Side note all the tribute spots have officially been filled! Yay! Can't wait to work with everyone's characters. Hope you all enjoy the chapter. **

District 6: Reaping Day

**Drana Rebel 16**

A trickle of sweat runs down my back as a warm breeze whistles through the streets. The air is thick with humidity that seems to amplify the heat tenfold. The sky is such a clear bright blue that its almost painful to look at, and all around the dusty brown buildings shimmer as if mirages. Somewhere a train whistle blows. God I hate district 6 summers.

"What are you thinking about?"

I glance over at Arayna, who's looking at me quizzically. In the heat her short dark hair has been plastered to the sides of her face, and she's fanning herself with a hand.

"Nothing." I give her my best reassuring smile. I don't want to worry her. I don't want her to know how many times my name is the reaping today, how many chances that I'll be taken away from her.

"You're an awful liar Drana." She teases, "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yeah," I mumble, "you."

Thankfully she doesn't prod me for further information though, instead just grins, "Well stop looking so down then, just enjoy the moment." She links her hand with mine and we walk a ways like that, just enjoying the quiet.

Her slightly too big reaping dress billows in the breeze, the white flowers dancing merrily on their faded blue background. It's a good thing it's too big, otherwise you would be able to tell. And then everyone would know.

We stop in a little plaza, and sit on the rim of a crumbling fountain. Just from looking at it you can tell the mosaicked bowl hasn't been filled in years. The dusty old willows offer little rest from the relentless sun and all around the pavement is marred with fissures and cracks. But neither of us mind because this place is special. This is where we first met.

I smile thinking about it. A year older than me Arayna was the kind of girl who'd chew you up and spit you out for dinner, or at least that was how she seemed to me. It was several weeks before I got the courage to speak to her, and even after that we were only just friends for two years.

Absent mindedly I run my fingers across the rim of the fountain. All sorts of things have been carved there, art and names, stuff from kids with nothing better to do. Instinctively my hand find the patch a little to the right of a carving of a lion where the letters D and A have been carved. I rub my fingers along them and they help to soothe my jumbled nerves.

"So have you told your parents yet?"

"Hmmm?" Arayna looks up at me with bright blue eyes, "No, not yet."

"You can't keep hiding it forever you know."

She looks sad, "I know but my parents will flip when they find out. They've never liked you much and if they find out I'm pregnant, well," She shrugs, "I really don't want to get kicked out." It's not a good position to be in and I feel awful for putting her through this. We had always been careful, but I guess not careful enough.

I wrap one arm protectively around her waist, "Don't worry they won't kick you out, besides even if they did you could just come live with me. And as soon as I'm eighteen I'll be able to buy a house and get a full time job." I already have a good deal of money saved up, from working in the factories, besides everything I got from selling my tesserae. As soon as Arayna told me—after I got past the initial shock—I took out as many as I could. There's always people in 6 willing to buy extra grain and I know doctors and everything can be expensive.

But she doesn't look convinced, "Just let me get past today okay?"

Today. Reaping day. I try not to think about it. Because there's always that horrible possibility that one of us will get reaped. If I go into the games Arayna will have no one, and if she goes in, well, I don't know if something like that has ever happened before. Of course the odds are neither of us will get reaped, but just the thought of it chills me to the bone. The very idea of the games makes me hate the Capitol that much more. Isn't it enough that we labor for hours building the cars and trains and hovercrafts they use? Isn't it enough that our citizens are starving? We don't need to slaughter our children too.

Arayna hates them as much as I do, if not more. A few years ago her friend Cara went in, she died in the blood bath and since then Arayna has hated the capitol almost as much as she hates the careers that murdered her friend.

But right now I don't want to stir that pot. She's happy and bringing up old memories wouldn't do any good.

The train whistle sounds again. Time to go.

We stand, brushing off our reaping clothes. It's not far to the city center but neither of us want to be late. To save time we cut through the abandoned store yard of a dilapidated factory. Usually a place like this would be crawling with bums and stray dogs but today I figure it'll be safe. Everyone should be at the reaping anyways, and the dogs won't give you much trouble if you don't linger.

Past the rusted fence and back on the street I catch sight of the justice building, a brownstone behemoth squatting in front of a large crowd of children. The streets are packed with people, parents and onlookers alike but we managed to shove our way to the front, throwing elbows when words aren't enough.

At this point the queue for sign in is short.

"Hand please."

I hold it out and the peacekeeper jabs a small needle into one finger before printing it on a sheet of white paper right next to the name Rebel, Drana. Below my name are two more Rebels, Marco and Crane both with little bloody finger prints. Good, my brothers made it. It's their first year, and I was kinda worried that they might not know what to do. I would have gone with them of course but with everything going on with Arayna I knew they wouldn't hold it against me for not being there.

On the other side of sign in Arayna who went first is waiting for me. She rises up on tip toes, brushing a strand of my long blond hair aside, and pecks me on the lips.

"Good luck."

"You too." Then she disappears into the crowd, heading towards the seventeen year olds section. I myself make towards where all the sixteen year olds I know from the factories are standing. They nod in acknowledgment but no one speaks. We're all nervous.

I'm tall and from here I can see my two brothers in the twelve year old section. With their long blonde hair and grey eyes we look just the same. Crane sees me and waves, tugging on Marco's sleeve. I wave back, but can't quite seem to control my facial features enough to smile.

_Mom, Dad and Lisa are watching. _Crane mouths.

_I know_. I mouth back.

At that moment Mayor Carter heaves his bulk up onto the makeshift stage that's been attatched to the front of the justice building. With him is a young—though it's hard to tell with capitolights—man dressed head to toe in some sort of plasticy black fabric. Considering the weather I'm surprised he hasn't roasted to death yet. True to form as the Mayor speaks he fans himself with one manicured hand.

They show a short film about the war with the capitol and the creation of the Hunger Games. When the giant inflatable screen switches off the man in black introduces himself to us as Pan Lefay. I'm shocked, because this can't possibly be the same Pan that's been escorting our tributes for the last ten years. That Pan was at least forty. Just goes to show what capitol plastic surgeons can do I guess.

"Now I'm sure you're all just dying to know who the tributes will be this year," He belts into the microphone and it's the same voice as ever, "But first I'd just like to remind you all what an honor it is to be here in district 5 once more." He spreads his hands dramatically and there's a polite smattering of applause but its apparent no one is very enthused. "Alright, now to the real show." He stalks over to the girls bowl and selects a slip from the very top. Delicately he folds open the paper. _Not Arayna. Not Arayna. _"Domino Young!"

I'm sure my sigh of relief is audible as a freckly red headed girl I've never seen before in my life mounts the stage. It wasn't Arayna.

Then just like that it's time for the boy. Pan selects a second slip, this time from the second bowl and reads off the name. Somewhere in the crowd a girl screams. A very familiar scream, because the name is Drana Rebel.

**Domino Young 17**

From the stage the peacekeepers escort me down a long hall, up a flight of stairs and into a small sparsely furnished room. One of them tries to hold my arm, probably to keep me from trying to run, but I swat it away.

"Next time you lay a hand on me it'll be the last." I snarl and after that they leave me alone, closing the door behind me without a word.

I glance around and after a moment collapse onto the old sofa in one corner. My mind races and my hands itch. I want to scream. I want to kill something. Why me?!

Well I _know _why: because the capitol is stupid and life is unfair. But those philosophies aren't exactly comforting at the moment. I'm going into the hunger games. That's practically a death sentence right there, add in little things like careers and arena traps and the odds definitely aren't in my favor.

I settle for ramming my fist into the plush seat of the sofa until the urge to destroy passes. I don't feel much better but at least I no longer plan on throttling the next person who walks through the door. That's a good thing because after a few moments the door creaks open and a whole group of people burst in. Like me they wear dirty blue work overalls.

The tallest one, a man with bright red hair like mine embraces me in a strong bear hug. My uncle Hans, I owe him everything for giving me a place to stay and a job to work at.

"It's okay." He whispers, "It's okay."

"I know." The cloth of his overalls smells like engine grease, a reassuring scent. Suddenly I feel like a child again. When I pull back his green eyes are full to the brim with worry. He know just as well as I that there's no coming back.

Next Lyle and then Judd embrace me. Both of them are at least a head taller than me, with full beards and all. To some it might seem strange that my friends are mostly older men but when you work beside someone in the train yards you can't help but forge a connection.

"Good luck Domi, I know you can do this." Lyle adds gruffly. "You're tougher than those career brats."

I don't point out that those career brats have had years to learn how to fight and use weapons while I will have only days.

Finally Wally shuffles over. Judd's son he's the only friend I have that's near to my own age.

With a hand he brushes some of his light brown hair out of his eyes, "I brought you something." He holds out a square of folded yellow cloth, my bandana. I always wear it when I'm working. "Thought they might let you wear it in the arena, show some district pride."

Despite the situation I smile and take it from him, "Thanks, I wear it even if I have to smuggle it."

Someone knocks on the door, the five minutes are up.

Hans hugs me one more time with a whisper of good luck and everyone files out. Before he leaves Wally puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Listen Domino, there's twenty four of you going in, but I _know_ you can win. You're the toughest girl I know and if you can put me in my place then you'll have no trouble with them." I remember the time he's talking about. Back when I first started working in the train yard we weren't exactly friends but after I'd knocked his head against the tracks a few times we developed a mutual respect that eventually grew into friendship.

"Recon they'll give me a welding torch in the arena?" I joke.

"Maybe, you never know," He withdraws his hand, "Bye Domino, see you in a few weeks."

"Bye and thanks." But the door has already swung shut.

I flump back down on the sofa the bandana tight clenched in my fist. _I can do this. I can do this. _I repeat the mantra to myself hoping upon hope that somehow if I say it enough times it will be true. The reality is I don't know how this will end.

At least I didn't look like a little cry baby. When they called my name my initial instinct was to run, but instead I squared my shoulders and marched up on that stage like I owned it. The capitol will never make me look weak, I refuse to let that happen.

I think about my district partner, the tall boy with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. He cried when they pulled him up on stage, didn't do a very good job hiding it. I almost felt bad. Some girl in the crowd was crying and screaming. I wonder who she was. A sister? A girlfriend? I decide it doesn't really matter. The less I know about him the better, it's not as if we're friends or anything and soon we'll be competitors. Still I hope someone else will get to him before I do. It's more likely anyways.

There's a slight tap on the door and a woman with sleek red hair enters timidly.

I jump to my feet surprised. It's my mother, I didn't expect her to visit. We haven't spoken in years.

"Domino." Her voice is stiff and formal. She hasn't forgotten then.

"Isis." I call her by her first name, she doesn't deserve to be called mom by me.

She smooth's the front of her checked dress back perfectly straight, "I just wanted to wish you good luck."

"Thanks." I respond flatly. When compared to the emotional goodbyes moments before this one is ridged and formal.

"Where's dad?"

"He couldn't come, but he saw the reaping." So he's off getting high or drunk then, no surprise. When taken into account that he smuggles morphine into the district to sell, and indulges in it himself, it's a wonder he made it to the reaping at all.

"Well?" I raise an eyebrow, "What else do you want?"

She looks affronted, "You're still my daughter."

"You should have thought about that before shouldn't you?"

"I already apologized about the morphine, your father—"

"It's not about the morphine." I'm trying hard now not to let my voice rise, "It you, always trying to control my life! Always lying to me! Well now I'm happy without you!"

"Is that the kind of attitude you're going to give your mother?!" She snaps one hand raking viciously across my cheek. Suddenly it's like nothing has changed. This is just like the last day I spent at my parents' house. She yelled at me then too, and I went into the back bedroom, where dad kept an illegal gun. I almost did it. I would have if Hans hadn't been there.

I quell the rising feelings of animosity and hatred and look straight up into her face, "You're not my mother."

She flinches and then her face goes slack. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have. We're the same blood Domino." She whispers, "And no matter what's happened between us I don't want to see you die in that arena."

I nod.

"Can I have hug."

Normally I wouldn't allow it but considering the circumstances I give my consent. She embraces me in a rather formal awkward hug.

"I think you should go now."

"Yes I think that would be best." She turns to leave and when she reaches the door looks back over her shoulder, "And Domino, I hope if you come back we'll be able to put this behind us."

I watch her leave then stare down at my booted feet, scuffing the toes against the polished floor. No matter what she says I don't believe we'll ever be able to move past it. She's too stubborn and I'm not that kind of person. I don't forgive and I never forget.


	9. District 7 Reaping

**I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! I know I know I'm an awful human being. But I seriously could not get a break this week. All my professors have decided to dump huge projects on me. Ugh! Anyways here's district 7. This one gave me a lot of troubles writing, I'm not sure why. I hope I represented you're characters as intended. **

**btw thanks for all the wedding wishes! It was very beautiful even if I didn't really know the people getting married.**

District 7: Reaping Day

**Fern Vipointe 16**

A cool breeze fans my face, bringing with it the scent of rain. Good news, forest fires shouldn't be near as big a problem as last year. Outside the old box car vast clear cuts hurtle past, ancient forests stripped in order to provide paper and lumber to the capitol. As we rattle and bump our way deeper into the district I hug my legs close, resting my chin on my knees. One of the girls—Hazel I think—vomits out the opening in the car side. I don't blame her, my own stomach is practically in my throat. It makes me glad I didn't eat a large breakfast. Hurtling at breakneck pace towards the opportunity to die a bloody and horrific death isn't exactly settling.

The wild mint I found this morning helps a little, and I nibble at it. About fifty of us are crammed together. Some of the eighteen year olds from camp five are talking but mostly everyone waits in nervous silence. A few people, the kids from the very outermost camps, are sleeping, curled up against the walls. I don't blame them. With hours on the train I would sleep too if I wasn't so anxious.

I push my body further against the wall, trying to calm my racing heart. Each year I do this the panic that leads up to it seems to increase. What would my father say to calm me down? Deep breaths always help. In. Out. In. There are hundreds of names in those bowls. Out. The likelihood of me being chosen is small. In.

"Fern are you okay?"

My breath whooshes out and I turn to look at the boy who spoke. It's Nash.

"I'm fine." I smile.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Don't be nervous. It's just another year, remember?"

I nod. Another year, another reaping. It's our saying in the logging camps, to give ourselves courage, maybe delude ourselves into thinking we won't get picked. It's an easy thing for a boy like Nash to say. Over six feet tall and swinging axes since the age of seven, even if he was picked he'd stand a chance. Me though: a scrawny girl who works in the camp kitchens? I wouldn't last a minute. But hopefully I won't have too.

"Hey, when we get back to the district recon you'd trade me some black berries for a rabbit?" Nash asks, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. A few kids glare at him.

"Where did you get a rabbit from?"

"Don't worry it's not illegal or anything. My dad set up a few traps around our house, got a whole brace last night."

I think about how good un-canned meet would taste. It would take me a little extra time to prepare but then my dad would have a real feast. Besides I managed to fill a bucket with blackberries this morning, more than my small family can eat before they rot. Nash probably saw me coming back through the district with the pail. "Sure, as long as you promise the rabbit's still in good condition. Linden tried to sell me a squirrel that had been crushed under a falling tree."

He laughs, "It's not crushed I promise."

After that we lapse back into silence. I wouldn't call Nash my friend, I wouldn't really call anyone my friend. Working in the camp kitchens keeps me too busy for that. But I enjoy talking with him, his sister Jelena is nice as well. I can be easy going and relaxed around them. They live only a few houses down from mine. I hope neither of them get reaped. Though practically speaking it would be better them than me.

As we race forward buildings start coming into focus, tall paper mills and lumber plants. They belch foul fume that rise up obscuring the sky. In those ominous shadows little wooden houses huddle together. Surrounding it all is the fence. Just like the ones that surround the logging camp, keeping all but loggers on organized run in. Only unlike ours this one is three stories tall and hums with electricity. Like every year white armored peacekeepers stop the train at the gate, and after inspecting each car, wave us through.

After that the train moves more slowly, the tight spaces between buildings constricting speed and movement. We halt between a dilapidated warehouse and lumber plant with such a big jerk that I am sent tumbling forward into a group of fourteen year olds. I apologize then disembark, careful of where I step. The ground beside the tracks is littered with broken bottles and rusted nails.

Walking down the narrow crooked streets my brown church shoes crunch on the gravel. They're a little too tight and pinch my heels painfully. Instinctively Jelena grab my hand. I squeeze her hand reassuringly, glad of the physical contact.

The streets become broader and better maintained a we near the center of town. People press in around us, and though my right hand is still caught in Jelena's grip the other goes protectively to the pocket of my forest green cardigan. That's where my dad's meager year's earning rests. Since reaping day is the only time I'm allowed into town, and since my dad hasn't been since mom died, it's my job to buy the supplies we'll need for the coming year. Of course things come in on the supply train, but the more expensive goods like sugar and cloth can be hard to come by. Not to mention that you have to go to the justice building to take out tesserae. I'm not about to get that precious money stolen by some pickpocketing urchin.

Town square has been decorated for the occasion, with festive ribbons and banners draped between the brightly painted store fronts. Capitol film crews perch on roofs and I know without a doubt that it's them who've decorated everything. Maybe we're supposed to treat it like a holiday but in district 7 reaping is a solemn affair. Needless to say the capitol is not very popular here.

While waiting in the line for sign in I catch sight of the little sweet shop. When I was younger my mother would come into town on the third Sunday of every month to shop and often I would come with her. While she bought produce from the little market next door I would press my chubby four year old face against the candy shop glass. It wasn't chocolate or peppermint twists I was ogling (though I wouldn't have said no to those either). In the store front was a little wooden display case with porcelain dolls, modeling the latest designs from the capitol. Supposedly the mayor's daughter collected them and the store owner had them imported for her. I loved the way their glossy hair fell in soft curls around their round sweet faces. I never did buy one, and after my mother died in a cook fire and stopped coming to town I soon forgot. I recon they're still there now. The mayor's daughter is now far too old for dolls and no one else could hope to afford them.

"Name?" A woman dressed in the white of a peacekeeper holds out her hand expectantly.

"Fern Vipointe" I wince as the peacekeeper woman jabs a needle into my finger, leaving a bloody finger print right next to my name. She scans it then allows me in. Kids press in all around me, struggling to make their way to their age group. Above the bleak grey sky is vast and open. I can't help feeling both claustrophobic and exposed at the same time.

Suddenly I'm wishing I was back home, deep in the forest. There's a tear in the fence that surrounds our camp, and over the years the woods have become my special place. There's something calming about the tall trees overhead, the rustle of pine needles under foot, and the blissful silence save for the sounds of squirrels and birds. There's no poverty out there, no capitol to control and choke us. I've always wondered if the entire world was like outside the fence how much better it would be.

But today I'm not in the woods, instead I'm packed in with hundreds of others. Hundreds of eyes fixed desperately on the justice building, the two glass bowls on its balcony.

I spot Jelena, and a few others from my camp who got in before me. Nash is off in the eighteen year olds section so I see no sign of him. Weaving my way through where the fifteen year olds stand I join them in silence. Jelena takes my hand again as does Hazel, the girl who threw up on the train this morning. Together we wait. The first drops of rain begin to fall.

**Ashen Moltres 18**

I shove my way through the crowd, not pausing to apologies when one little twelve year old lands on her butt with an indignant cry. Almost missing sign in has put me on edge. Everyone knows what they do to you if you don't show up to the reaping.

I find my place with the others just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. _Great. Just great. _I thank the universe for adding rain to an already crappy day. Scratch that, a crappy week.

Grinding my teeth together in frustration, I watch as the introduction video starts. A giant screen has been attached to the front of the justice building, a large wooden building, whose boards are thoroughly corrupted by rot. On the second story balcony several people are lined up in chairs. I spot the mayor and am gripped by the sudden desire to hit someone. If only I had a gun, or a knife. Even Bark's axe would've done. Bark knows that all too well, the very reason he's had me under house confinement for the last few days. If I did that I'd be dragged off to a cell or more likely given a quick death on the justice building steps. They—especially willow—need me.

Even so the sight of the mayor's face still makes me want to do some serious damage. But not nearly as much as the sight of his daughter Vanessa, standing smugly by the base of the stage. It's her fault for putting me in the situation, hers and Snap's. I told him it was a bad idea, nothing but trouble would come of chasing after a rich girl. He didn't listen for a minute.

The capitol escort marches out on stage. A young woman with curly blond hair and far too much eyeliner she seems distressed by the rain, attempting to hold her flimsy shawl over her head to keep dry. It's not working and already the eyeliner has begun to run down her face, giving her a rather racoonish quality.

She babbles on for what seems like ages, before a short video about the hunger games comes on. It's the same every year, shots of gunfire and bombs being dropped while a male voice names the 'atrocities' committed by the districts. Then the rules of the games are listed while scenes from particularly horrendous hunger games flash by. I know I should hate it, be horrified and sickened by what the capitol is doing. Everyone else in the district is. And while I know that I would never want to compete in the capitol's bloody pageantry I can't help feeling that I'm not much better than them. Nobody in my 'family' is.

The underground, the dirty rotten core of the district. That's what we are. You need someone taken care of? A pesky lumber yard owner? A new peacekeeper with liberal ideas? The high up's of the district come to us to get it done. And not just killing, more often its information. There are places the peacekeepers can't go, not in their flashy white armor. Who else would control the black market? Who would make sure the capitol knows who's been poaching illegally. It's all illegal of course, but the peacekeepers usually turn a blind eye for such organized crime. They're well paid for their silence and without us they'd just have more problems on their hands. In a way I suppose we do work for the capitol, but its good money, if shamefully bought.

When it finally ends the capitol woman is back, chatting happily about how exciting these years' games will be. She proceeds to introduce our past victors. Supposedly district 7 has the most victors of any non-career district. Probably because a lot of our tributes come from the logging camps, and despite being the poorest section of the district many have been using axes to chop and haul loads since childhood. Our eleven names are read off, with special note paid to those that will be mentoring this year. I don't recognize either one of them, their games being long before I was born.

"Now! Time for the fun to begin!" The capitolite—I missed her name earlier—beams down at all of us. Her smile is met with stony resignation. "Alright then, how about the ladies go first." The ladies go first _every _year but no one points that out to her as she crosses to the first glass bowl, which to my eyes looks like some strange fish tank. I look down at my black dress shoes, hoping and praying that it won't be my sister's name she reads out. Willow's too delicate to be thrown into the hunger games.

"Fern Vipointe!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, I watch the girl walk from her place among the other sixteen year olds, up the steps and onto the balcony. Her head is held high but she's not doing a very good job of looking strong as tears are running down her cheeks. I suppose the rain helps hide it a little, even as it plasters her black hair to her face and shoulders. I've never seen this girl before, she must come from the camps. Pretty though and the way she's crying I would almost feel bad for her except I learned a long time ago not to feel bad for those who are about to die. Life is tough, at least you don't have to worry once you're dead.

"Now for the boys!" I lean forward at that. I have so many slips in today, being eighteen with six years of tesserae slips on top of that drives my chances higher. And there's always a chance the mayor… The woman digs around a while before pulling out a slightly crumpled slip, she holds it up and in a triumphant voice reads out, "Ashen Moltres!"

Heads turn to stare at me as I pass. One foot after another I climb the wooden steps of the justice building. My mind buzzes, confusion, shock, terror and most of all anger threaten to engulf me. Through the haze I hear the escort announcing "Your district 7 tributes!" and a smattering of polite applause. The girl—Fern—and I shake hands. Her green eyes are red and puffy, but the expression with which she looks at me isn't friendly. Good. She already knows we're advisories. I wouldn't want a weepy crybaby as my ally anyways.

Peacekeepers lead us back through the double doors of the justice building and down a long corridor. They let Fern into her room first. Being from the camps, I can't imagine anyone will visit her. Next they show me to my room. One of the peacekeepers keeps a firm grip on my arm and I fight the urge to punch him in the face. As soon as the door is shut behind me I loose my pent up rage, driving my fist into the wall. I come away bleeding but with a satisfying dent in the drywall.

"Ashen?" I turn to see Snap and his brother Bark standing in the doorway, "Are you okay?"

Normally I'd be happy to see them, especially Snap but today isn't normally. I round on Snap, anger coloring my voice. "How could you?!"

His eyes are wide, "I don't—"

"This is all your fault!"

"My fault?" His anger is rising too now, "How it my fault that your bloody name came out of that bowl?!"

"How could you be so stupid?!" I draw my arm back, ready to deliver a hefty punch to the face. Bark intervenes, jumping between myself and his brother. I know better than to take a swing at him, what with how I've seen him spin and axe I'd be dead before I even made contact.

"Whoa! Ashen calm down. What's wrong? How is this Snap's fault?"

I glare at Snap, "This all because of you and Vanessa!"

"What?" Barks eyebrows shoot up and he turns to look at his brother.

Snap is shocked, "How did you know?"

"How do I know? Well you two weren't exactly careful were you? The Mayor saw you fooling around in their gardens. He told me to make you disappear, make it look like an accident or something." That get their attention. In our house 'making someone disappear' has only one meaning. "I told him no of course."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Bark asks finally his voice deathly quiet.

I run my fingers through my hair, "I didn't know what to do. You can't just refuse to do a job for someone can you? And the mayors so important I didn't want to get in any more trouble. Guess I screwed that up too. He probably fixed the damn reaping!"

"I know you probably don't wanna hear it but thanks for not killing me buddy." Snap cuts in, "Vaness—"

"I'll deal with you later." Bark's eyes flash, telling me that Snaps gonna get one hell of a talking to when he gets home, "Listen Ashen I doubt the mayor had the reaping fixed, even he doesn't have that much power. You did the right thing. This is just really really bad luck."

"How do you know that?" I challenge, "How do you know that all this didn't happen because you're idiot brother couldn't keep it in his pants?! How—"

"Ashen?" I turn towards the new voice only find my sister Willow standing in the doorway. Sometimes I find it hard to believe we're related. She's so small and delicate with her fine features and blonde hair. She looks more like a twelve year old than fourteen. Compared to me, tall and hulking with my dark hair she might as well be a fairy. Bambi, one of the other members of out 'family' stands just behind her eyebrows raised at all the shouting.

My anger melts away, replaced instead by horrible guilt. Willow. All my life I've tried to protect her. How can I leave her now? What will she do without me?

"I brought you something." She holds out her hand palm up. "You know, since…" She doesn't need to finish the sentence because I know, since I'm not coming back. On it rests a little silver bracelet. It's not real silver, only that color but in my opinion it's still worth more than a pound of gold. It was our mother's, she gave it to Willow right before she committed suicide. That Willow wants to give it to me now touches my heart.

I lean down and embrace her.

"You'll come back right?" She whispers.

"Yeah," I say, knowing that I've just made a promise, "I'm coming back." I will, even if I have to kill all twenty four others to do it.


	10. District 8 Reaping

**Ugh, so I've been sick for the last few days. And while that sucks for me, it does mean i managed to do some writing (even though i was supposed to be working on one of my million school presentations). Good news for you guys but maybe not so much for my school credit. Anyways enjoy it and let me know what you think. **

District 8: Reaping Day

**Maximo Juilliard 15**

"Honey you're going to be late!"

"I'm coming!" I fly down the steps two at the time, missing the last one and stumbling out into the sunlit living room. I pant a little out of breath from the excursion.

"Oh, Maximo is that really what you're going to wear?" My mother glides over to me, poised as usual in a dress of salmon pink. She begins to dab at a spot on my shirt and looking down I realize the white cloth has been stained with a splotch of light blue paint. I must have spilled it while putting the finishing touches on Athene's painting. Her dress was blue.

I wave her off, "It's fine. I'll just change."

"No, you don't have time! You're fathers already gone and it would be unseemly if you were late." She brushes a blond curl back from my forehead, "There, very handsome. Did you remember to practice your violin this morning?"

I shake my head, "No I didn't have time."

"Hmmm. Well you'll have to do it when we get back." She checks the silver watch at her wrist, "Time to go."

I hold the glass paned door open and usher her out with a gentlemanly gesture. "After you."

A black car waits for us on the street beyond. While I hold the door open for my mother I watch Mrs Janison and her daughter Thimble race out the door of their elegant shingled house. Thimble appears to be arguing with her mother. Knowing Thimble she's bound to get whatever she's after. That girl could talk the gun off a peacekeeper if she wanted to. I wave and she waves back before resuming her barrage.

Once in the car my mother shakes her head. "You shouldn't go associating yourself with the Janison's, it doesn't reflect well on our family." She mutters something else which sounds suspiciously like 'new money upstarts'. I refrain from pointing up that she's just as new money as they are. Before she met my dad she was just the daughter of a factory overseer, but now that she's the wife of one of the biggest factory owners in the district she considers herself on the same level with all the old families. This means she holds families like the Janison's—who made their wealthy selling unique clothes to the capitol—in poor regard.

"Central plaza." She tells the driver, who's waited patiently through her scolding.

"No wait, can we swing by Coriander?"

"Why?"

"I promised we'd give Athene a ride, her family doesn't have a car you know." It's a bit redundant. Of course Athene doesn't have a car, hardly anyone does, and certainly not the families of factory accountants.

My mother harrumphs but gives the driver the address. Outside the tinted windows of our car the large fancy houses gradually give way to smaller less well kept ones. They cling to life in the shadows of the factories, while sickly people dressed in far too large clothes walk down the streets towards the town center, rushing to get out of the way as we pass by. Seeing them—the impoverished of the district—always makes me glad that my family has the means to afford food and clothes, and the finer things in life. But it also makes me sad, people no matter where they come from shouldn't live like this.

The car turns at Coriander Street, a narrow unpaved road that passes between two tall brick factories. The right makes cloth, while the one on the left sews home textiles. My father owns them both. A little farther down are houses, piled one on top of the other and squeezed so close that I doubt a two people could walk abreast down an alley. The car slides to a halt before one with shuttered windows and slightly peeling yellow paint.

The driver honks the horn once and the door swings open with a crash. A girl in a blue dress dashes out, letting it slam behind her. Her light brown hair which is normally braided up has been let down today accented by a pretty blue bow. I push open the car door and she clambers in.

"Thank you so much for picking me up Mrs. Juilliard," She smiles, one cheek dimpling, "You look great Max."

"Thanks so do you." I lace my fingers with hers, thankful that my mother has turned her eagle gaze back to the window, "You always look so pretty in blue."

**Amity Greaves 16**

"Go on open them!" Sash claps her hands together in excitement.

I look at the tiny gift, wrapped in neat brown paper. 'To Amity' has been printed out on it in Sash's neatest handwriting. Carefully, so as not to unnecessarily tear the paper, I open the little parcel. Inside is a crocheted hat, in a white color that matches my dress. I notice it's the same pattern as Sash's own blue one.

Beside me Thimble uncovers her own hat, a dusky pink that will stand out against her dark brown hair.

"Do you like them?" She bounces nervously on her toes. We both assure her that we absolutely do like them and allow her to slip them over our hair. "Now we can all match."

"People will think we're triplets." Thimble jokes. With her dark hair and hazel eyes she about as different as night and day from Sash and I.

It's my turn next. From the bag at my side I produce two small bundles, wrapped in the same brown paper as Sash's gifts. I give one to each of them and watch eagerly as they uncover two little sewn pouches, made from multiple pieces of light floral fabric.

Thimble hugs me, "It's so cute! Thanks Amity." Sash adds her own compliments and I smile. It took me a while to find a pattern for them. Thankfully Thimble's mom lets me keep the scraps of fabric when I sew something for her boutique.

"Well I don't know if my gift is gonna beat that, but…" Thimble draws two objects out of her skirt pocket. "…I hope you like them." She hands us each a delicate beaded bracelet. I gasp, even though I'm sure the beads are glass it's still the most beautiful and probably the most expensive thing I've ever owned. Though one thing I notice is that while Sash's is a simple band, a small silverish charm hangs from mine. It's shaped like a star.

"Thank you so much!" Sash cries.

I hug Thimble. I'm about to pull away when she whispers really quiet in my ear, "The charm is silver, sell it."

"Thanks." I whisper back.

Some people might envy a girl like Thimble. And true enough I've often found myself wishing I had her fancy clothes or full stomach. But even though I'd gladly exchange our places Thimbles always been there for me. There's been more than one time when my family's struggled and its Thimble's family's money that's put food on our table. In return I work in her mother's shop, a better job than most. I can't resent her good luck. Some people are born fortunate, the rest of us just have to try and keep up.

"Hey," Needle taps my shoulder, and I turn to face my twin, "Are you guys almost done? The lines moving up."

Sure enough there is now a gap between us and the kids in front of us. Those behind our little group are starting to take notice.

"Sorry," I grab Sash's hand and we all move up in the sign in queue.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Sash rummages in her little knit purse, "I got you something Needle."

With evident pride she produces a rectangular parcel. Needle takes it, looking rather confused. A lot of people exchange gifts at the reaping but usually girls don't give them to boys or vice versa.

Pulling back the paper he reveals a rather old looking book with faded leather. I wonder where she got it, must have cost a lot.

"Amity told me that you miss school now that you're working in the factories." She explains, "I thought maybe you could use this to study in your free time."

Needle looks touched, "Wow, thanks Sash. This really means a lot to me. I'm really sorry I didn't get you anything."

"Oh its fine." She blushes. I roll my eyes and Thimble snickers. It's common knowledge that Sash's had a thing for my brother for years, since he saved her from being run over by a car actually. I doubt anything will come of it, Sash isn't really his type. But then you never know.

It's only a few more minutes before we reach the desk where the peacekeepers are waiting to sign us in. Needle goes first, drawing back his slightly too long sleeve to allow the man to prick his finger. I catch sight of the knotted bracelet around his wrist and smile. It was my reaping day gift to him. He gave me a red ribbon hair band, even now I'm wearing it under Sash's hat.

I go next, wincing slightly at the sharp jab. Then they let me through.

"Good luck." Needle squeezes my hand before disappearing off towards the boys section. I bite my lip suddenly nervous. There are six people in my family, seven counting me. With the usual number of slips plus the tesserae that's 48 slips, 24 for me, 24 for him. The odds aren't exactly great for us.

But as I follow Thimble through the crowd I try to shake of those thoughts. Hey this is just another year right?

We take our place with the other sixteen year old girls just as a woman dressed impractically in a brocade floor length dress marches up on stage. It's Calida, the ever perky escort of district 8. In front of the old brownstone justice building she looks very out of place. Immediately my mind goes into analyze mode. She looks different this year. It's hard to tell with all the makeup but I think she might have changed her nose.

Thimble sighs, "What I wouldn't give for a dress like that."

To me it looks hot and impractical.

She gives a brief introduction, reading off the names of all our victors. There is exactly one: an elderly man named Woof who doses in his chair. Supposedly district 8 has the least victors of all the districts. I'm not surprised. What with the lack of greenery and everyone living stacked one on top of the other, it's not like we learn much of the skills of survival. All I know about the wilderness comes from reading an old book about edible plants. It's the only book in my house so I've practically memorized the pages.

After the introduction she shows a brief video. I've already seen it but I pay attention anyways. Since dropping out of school to work I take what information I can get whenever possible.

When it concludes, Calida goes to stand by the first bowl, "Now I thought we'd shake it up this year. How about gentlemen first?" She doesn't wait for a response, digging her hand into the dish and pulling up a neatly folded slip. Not Needle please! She unfolds it and reads out the name. "Maximo Juiliard!"

A breath a sign of relief and Thimble gasps as the blonde haired, slightly overweight boy makes his up the justice building steps.

"He's my neighbor." She whispers. I have to admit I don't know the boy, though I do remember him vaguely back from when I was at school. A year younger than me, he was always surrounded by people. I stayed on the fringes of social groups, watching and observing was always more my thing. A wealthy kid like him though, his chances of being reaped had to be something like one in a million.

I can tell from the shaky way he walks that he's nervous and frightened, but he puts on a bright smile and even gives a little bow for the crowd. It's impressive, bolder than I could ever be.

A girl a little in from of us, standing with the fifteen year olds is crying. A few of her friends pat her on the back or try to console her with words. I wonder who she is, she doesn't look too much like the boy tribute so I doubt she's his sister. I feel bad, the way the reaping tears so many relationships apart. If I could I would console her, but right now there's more pressing concerns. Calida has crossed to the second bowl.

I dig my nails into Sash and Thimble's hands, and them into mine.

"Amity Greaves!"

**Maximo Juilliard 15**

I drum my fingers against the side of the cracked leather sofa as yet another group is ushered into my waiting room. This is the fourth group of people I've seen. First was my parents, full of outrage that their son of all people should be reaped. Next was Athene. I had seen her crying in the crowd when I went up on stage but she had since dried her tears and put on a brave face. The handkerchief she gave me to be my token is clenched tight in my fist. I couldn't help smiling at the irony of that gesture, like a princess giving a knight a token in all the old books I'd read. She didn't think it was quiet as funny as I did. After that were some kids I hung out with from school, not close friends but it still touches me that they wanted to say goodbye.

Because this is the final goodbye.

Now my two best friends stand in front of me. Howard and I do our best awkward man hug while Atticus pats me on the shoulder.

"Thanks for coming to see me. It means a lot."

"What? You though we were just gonna let you leave without saying goodbye?" Howard asks, "Besides we gotta give you all kinds of tips and stuff for the games."

I'm not quite sure what tips they give me will make a difference, I'm not exactly great tribute material.

"Yeah what if they stick you in a wasteland like the year after last? You've gotta learn all the survival stuff."

Yes, survival skills should be my priority. Living in district 8 and with a wealthy family I know next to nothing about the wilderness. Year after year I've seen our tributes freeze, starve, or dehydrate to death and I don't want to go out that way.

But if I want to even survive the first day I know I'll need allies. Without them I'd be helpless. Maybe my district partner: Amity. I don't know her but she seemed nice enough.

"Don't worry I'll figure it out."

Atticus' face is serious, "And I'm sure your parents will sponsor you. Plus if you can make the capitol like you then you'll have no problem."

I nod. But the reality of this is my chances of winning are slim, if not nothing. The crown of victor always goes some big girl from district 2 or axe wielding boy from 7. Despite this I realize that I'm not too upset about being reaped. I always imagined I'd be angry if my name came out of that glass bowl, but instead I'm merely sad that I'll have to say goodbye to all my friends and family. Maybe I'm still in shock or something. Still, I'm glad that it was me. Not that I want to go into the arena, but at least it's not someone whose family needs them. Sure my parents love me but I don't work six hour shifts in a factory to pay for a sick sister or brother's education. No one will starve without me.

There's a firm knock on the door, times up.

"Bye Maximo, we'll be rooting for you."

"Bye." I wave and then think of one last thing, "Hey Howard, Atticus, when the time comes," I swallow the lump in my throat, "please don't let Athene watch."


	11. District 9 Reaping

**Hey everyone! So I read all the reviews for district 8 and swear you guys make my day. I love reading what you all think about the characters. I can't wait until we get to the capitol and the arena and stuff really gets going. **

**In any case here is district 9. The grain district! I'm not sure why but this is my favorite district in Panem (not that I'll give any special treatment). Whenever I submit to SYOT's my tributes are usually to district 9. Anyways enjoy it!**

District 9: Reaping Day

**Teff Galloway 12**

There is blood all over the ground. It seeps into the hard packed dirt as the camera pans up to the victor's face. The handsome boy from 2, and the district 4 girl beneath him, her head bashed in by the rock he holds. The camera flashes back to an earlier shot: the same pair laughing backstage at their interviews. The boy in his metallic suit and the girl in a barely there gown of shimmering silver.

The old TV set switches off and I sigh. What I wouldn't give to have a dress like that. To hang on the arm of a boy like that? So handsome, so brave.

"Teff what did I say about watching the TV? You need to be getting ready." My mother looks down expectantly at me, arms crossed. Wisps of light ash blonde hair are coming free of her tight bun and there are dark circles under her eyes. It's hard to believe she's only twenty seven.

Groaning I push myself up off the rough dirt floor. _Couldn't I have watched for a little bit longer?_ They always show clips of the previous games right before the reapings. It's not mandatory viewing so most people don't watch. I never miss it.

Pulling back the old quilt that divides out house I enter the 'bedroom'. My mom and I's little twin bed is crammed in the corner. The blankets are all messy. I guess I was supposed to make the bed huh? I must have forgotten, with the reaping and everything going on today it slipped my mind. At the beds foot is a box with all my clothes. Drawings from school and a few other knickknacks are tucked in between the folds of fabric. I examine one of the drawing, scribbled on a piece of newspaper for a few seconds. I drew it a few years ago, me in salmon pink dress I saw a girl from district 5 in a few years ago. I'm not a very good artist and the drawn dress isn't nearly as splendid as I remember the real thing to be. I set it aside and look for my clothes. Thankfully I don't have to dig much because my reaping outfit is one of only a few sets of clothes.

A pleated blue skirt and white blouse, these are the same clothes I wear to school almost every day. We don't have enough money for fancy reaping dresses and though mom tries her best sometimes I wish my dad had stuck around. The son of a businessman, he would have been able to buy me a nice dress for sure. Then I would have been one of those girls who shows up at the reaping every year with a new dress and ribbons in my hair.

But I realize looking at my reflection in the little handheld mirror that it doesn't matter. When I'm a victor like all those kids on TV my mom and I will have more beautiful dresses than we can wear in a year.

I run the comb through my hair, pulling it back into a little knot at the base of my neck. I hope it makes me look older, more sophisticated. I don't want the capitol to see me and think of me as another weak twelve year old, bound for the bloodbath. All the while I can't help but wish it was a different color. A few mousy, straw like strands fall out around my face. I wonder if I could ever dye them. Blonde? Black? Red? Or maybe something more exotic: a capitol color.

Out in the main room my mom has made tea. It's nothing more than a few dry leaves boiled in water but I'm used to it. We drink it in silence, nibbling on the crusts of brown tesserae bread. I'm not used to this, to spending so much time with her. Usually I'm asleep by the time she gets off work, or else camped out in from of the TV, watching hunger games reruns. That the reason she bought the TV in the first place: she was always gone and I needed something to do. Today is the only full day we ever spend together. She gets it off every year.

The TV has been turned back on while I was in the other room, so I turn my eyes to that, trying to shrug off the uncomfortable silence. On screen a woman with slightly too pink to be natural skin is talking to a man with golden hair.

_"Well now that we've seen districts 1 and 2, what do you think of our tributes so far Decimus?" _They talk about the four already selected tributes. I admire the pink woman's fur coat, worn over a shirt of silvery rhinestones, she looks like some sort of princess. Her dark hair is piled into a towering monolith of curls with flashing gems pinned into it.

_"An interesting bunch, having a victor's sister in the ring will be interesting. As well as a non-volunteer. We'll have to see in the next few hours what the other district have to offer." _They don't show the reapings. In the capitol you can probably watch them as they happen, but here we have for the recaps in the evening. So when the conversation ends the screen goes to the capitol seal before switching to black.

I help my mom clear the dishes, rinsing our cups in a bucket of water and storing them in the cupboard above the stove. In the distance a whistle blows. It's almost time.

"Wait here a second Teff." My mother smooth's her faded dress and disappears into the back room. I don't have to wait long. Soon she reemerges holding a little black box. My fingers clench on the fabric of my skirt. I know what that is. Is she serious?

"I thought since this is your first reaping you should have this." She opens the box and reveals the necklace inside. The pearl shimmers dully in the minimal light. The gold metal—though I know it can't be real gold—is as bright and shiny as if it was brand new. I've only seen my mother wear this necklace on a handful of occasions, and can't comprehend why she would give it to me. With thin tapering fingers she drapes the gold chain around my neck, the teardrop pendant bright against my white shirt. "My mother gave this to me did you know?" I did but I don't ruin the moment by pointing it out. "When I was eighteen, it was her's and her mother's before her. She said that our family's had it since before the Capitol, and the districts. We pass it down mother to daughter and it protects us. Now," There's a click as the clasp snaps shut, "it will protect you. And keep the capitol from taking my little angle away."

I reach down to finger the little teardrop at my throat. It's so beautiful.

"Thank you." I gasp and embrace her.

She must mistake my joy for fear because she pets my hair and shushes me like a child. "It'll be all right. This is just your first year. No one's going to take you away." But no tears fall from my eyes, and I beam. This necklace is so beautiful, already it makes me look like a victor.

"Don't worry mom, it'll be perfect."

It will be.

**Drew Pierce 15**

People press in around me, hundreds of sweaty bodies and upturned faces. A dry wind rustles the congregation. I bounce the rock up and down in my hand.

"Who ya reckon they're gonna pick this year?" Alec asks, his eyes fixed on the justice building, in front of which a man in some strange animal print is talking exaggeratedly to the mayor.

"No idea. Probably some poor half-starved kid that made the mistake of taking too many tesserae." My tone is playful, but it's only half a joke. _I'm_ one of those kids, so is Alec and his sister. Hell, half the kids in the district are one of those kids.

"Well I wish you'd lend me the rock. I could use a bit of luck."

I look down at the stone in my palm, milky white it's just barely transparent in the sunlight. The kind my stepmother would say fends off bad luck.

"Not a chance." I clench my fist around it, "Besides you don't really believe in all that stuff do you?"

"Don't you?"

"What? In magic crystals and summoning ghosts? Not a chance." Superstitions run like brush fire in 9. Let the grandmothers and aunties believe them I say. There're plenty of other things to worry about other that goblins and curses. Never the less I keep the stone. Having something to hold onto, to fidget with, is strangely soothing.

"Come on," To my left Herman bounces impatiently on the balls of his feet, "lets get this thing over with."

"So eager to go into the arena Herman?" Alec asks.

"Shut up, I'm not going into the arena. They'd have to kill me to get me in that train."

"Defeats the purpose doesn't it?"

"Exactly!" Of course in all actuality if one of us did get reaped there wouldn't be much we could do. Tributes have tried to run before but the peacekeepers always catch them. Still, it's nice to pretend we have a choice.

I shade my eyes and stand on tip toes to try and better see what's going on up at the justice building. 9 is a large district—one of the largest or so they hint at in school—and the amount of kids with their names entered far exceeds space in the square. Stragglers have been shunted into roped off areas down side streets. Throughout the crowd the events transpiring at the justice building are being relayed on large portable screens brought by the capitol film crews. Being stuck behind a group of rather tall sixteen year olds it's through one of these screens that I resign myself to watching.

Up on the veranda of the justice building the mayor and a few others have sat up in chairs where they'll have a good view of the proceedings. Two, set a little aside from the others belong to district 9 victors. In the history of Panem we've had three, but our first Emmer Faust died ages ago. The chairs are occupied by Maize Bulgur and Farra Millet. Booth are in their late thirties and look rather worse for wear. I would think with all the money from winning they would take better care of themselves. Meanwhile, our escort is fussing with the placement of the reaping bowls. The screen switches to a shot of the last few kids being herded into the enclosure. This must be some of the same footage they'll be showing in the capitol.

Above the man heads the white paint of the justice building gleams. They repainted it this year, a big old plantation style building. Supposedly it used to be a house, but I have a hard time believing it. I can't imagine anyone living in a place like that. What would you even do with that much room? They must have been very rich.

Not that it matters now. The justice building now belongs to the capitol.

"Ah! Welcome district 9!" The screen's switch from panning the crowd back to the shaded area in front of the justice building, where the escort is waving enthusiastically at the crowd. "What a pleasure to be back here for another reaping." His excitement is met mostly with silence. "Before we begin we have a very special film for all of you."

The screens cut to panoramic shots of fire, bombs being dropped, and generally death. A deep male voice talks about the horrors of the district uprising and the Hunger Games which sprung up in its wake. My palms are sweaty, and I fidget nervously with the rock. I can't wait for this to be over. The film ends with a warning against future revolution. Ha! Like anyone would try! I may hate them as much as the next person but there's no denying that the Capitol is good at keeping everyone in line. They rule with an iron fist.

"My favorite part!" The escort beams at us with teeth that look to white to be natural, "But there's more excitement left in store for you! It's time to find out who our courageous tributes will be. As always the lovely ladies will go first."

With overly long fingernails he fishes a slip out of the dish, holding it up before reading in a heavily dramatic voice, "Rysa Tillens!"

The cameras zoom to the tribute, a tall muscular girl from the seventeen year olds section. I recognize her vaugly. I don't think we went to school together, but maybe I worked with her in the fields? I'm not sure. In any case one look at her and you know she's strong from years of tilling and plowing. And while her face is currently a mask of fear I can't help thinking she might actually have a chance. Good for her. District 9 tributes hardly ever do.

There's a polite round of applause for Rysa before our escort takes the mike again. He has a second slip, presumably the boy's, in hand.

"And the boy will be Drew Pierce."

I freeze, certain I must have heard wrong. Because that can't be my name being read out. IT just can't. All the games I've seen flash before my eyes. Tributes stabbed though the stomach. Tributes burned alive. Tributes impaled on gamemaker traps. No. They must have read the name wrong. It's not me,

"Drew Pierce!"

And that's when my body starts to move, feet pounding against the asphalt as the crowd parts before me. I can see my face reflected back at me from the dozen or so screens scattered throughout the crowd. You can see the fear in my eyes and I immediately try to wipe my features. I can't look weak. I need to be strong. My attempt is met with minimal success.

The escort helps me up onto the stage, holding out one gloved hand as I ascend the steps. I look out at my district. Never before have I stood in front of so many people. While normally such attention would make me want to curl up in a little ball away from all the eyes I'm so dazed I hardly notice the gaze of hundreds.

"Now," The escort claps his hands, "Would anyone like to volunteer for one of this year's tributes."

It's the question they ask every year, always to be met with silence. In the past I stood in the crowd wondering why anyone would ever volunteer. Now, standing on that stage all I can hope is that there's someone insane enough to go it. For the first time in what must be over ten years the district is not disappointed.

"I volunteer!" But it's a girl's voice, high a shrill. "I volunteer!"

There's a small scuffle in the twelve year olds section and a tiny girl with mousy brown hair steps out from the throng.

At first I'm not sure whether or not to laugh. This little girl can't be serious.

But as she mounts the stage, smiling a waving, that shock turns to anger. What is she doing? At least a girl like Rysa might have chance. This wispy child? She'll be dead on day one.

Then again so will I.

In the crowd someone lets out a faint shriek. "Teff no!" I can't identify the person, a woman for sure. Her mother maybe.

Of to one side of the stage peacekeepers have escorted Rysa down off the stage. She's crying, tears of relief I'm sure. I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. No one's willing to take the bullet for me.

I turn my attention back to my new district partner. She's still practically beaming at everyone. Dressed in a faded blue uniform her skin is sallow in the sunlight, and judging from the circumference of her waist I bet you could count every single one of her ribs.

"And what's your name?" The escort asks kindly.

She sets her jaw and looks out over the crowd with a determined air, not quite befitting of someone of her stature.

"Teff Galloway, your next victor."

Well, that settles it. My district partner has a death wish.


End file.
